


The Music of Your Soul Calling Mine

by Hevheia



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, cameo's of the rest of the Guard, cellist!Nicky, like a lot of fluff, mentions of catholicism, pianist!Joe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29237991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hevheia/pseuds/Hevheia
Summary: In all senses but the literal, Nicky is lost. In an attempt to find himself again, he leaves Italy for a year of solitude in the US. Soon, he finds a safe harbor in the local museum, a place where he can think and find rest. A place where he one day meets an intriguing pianist by the name of Joe. It is Joe who rekindles Nicky’s dream of becoming a cellist he had been forced to cast aside, and it is Joe who stands by his side all the way to achieving it. But most of all, it is with Joe that Nicky finds everything he didn’t know he was looking for and more.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 87
Kudos: 175
Collections: The Old Guard Big Bang





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This fic was written for the Old Guard Big Bang 2021 and I couldn't be more grateful to collaborate with the wonderful [Shatters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatterthefragments/pseuds/shatterthefragments) in this project, thank you so much!! <33
> 
> You can find us both on tumblr too @[theoldguardinshatters](https://theoldguardinshatters.tumblr.com) and @[nickydestati](https://nickydestati.tumblr.com)!
> 
> I also made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1EGo0pJS7MEb3mJEPJHkFA?si=-8K5vfkiSwWMY5nniWySug) with all the songs mentioned in this fic for anyone who is curious.
> 
> Enjoy! <3

Nicky has lost count of how many times he has visited the museum by now. 

The first time, he had ended up there by accident. He had been wandering through the city to get to know its feeling. The way it breathed and moved. It was nothing like the cities he was used to, he felt that as soon as he stepped out of the taxi that brought him to his new apartment. He was used to houses bearing down on him, old and heavy with a thousand tales to tell. Here, the buildings towered over him like silent, concrete giants and the streets stretched out like gaping chasms or unbridgeable rivers.

But he didn’t mind the stiff and detached air of the city. He needed it. It’s what he had come here for in the first place, to be unknown and unnoticed. Just another face in the crowd trodding these pavements day in and day out.

It had been a cold day. He’d gotten his apartment more or less in order and had finally shrugged off that awful jetlag, and he was in dire need to go stretch his legs. So off he went, armed with a map in his hands and a scarf around his neck. He hissed as soon as he stepped outside, hugging his coat tighter around himself. Yes, the temperature really needed some getting used to, but there was no time like the present.

He visited the park, found a nearby grocery store and did some sightseeing of the absolute ‘must see’ attractions according to his Lonely Planet guide. Somewhere halfway through the day, it started drizzling, though. A drizzle that turned into a rightout downpour within seconds. So Nicky, hugging his city map awkwardly to his chest so it wouldn’t soak, ran into the nearest public-looking building.

When he had shaken the water off of him a little and made sure his map was still whole, he looked around to see where he had ended up. To his surprise, it happened to be a museum. He’d been meaning to visit it somewhere in the undetermined future. One look outside and the feeling of the chilly dampness of his clothes told him he might as well do it now.

So he bought a ticket, completely oblivious to what was awaiting him. 

It was nothing world-shaking, life-altering or even mildly exciting. Maybe it was precisely the lack of those things that made it so special. What Nicky found in that museum was silence. A quietness he had been longing and grasping for but had always eluded him when he needed it most, even where he'd expected to find it without doubt. 

Walking between the paintings and statues and echoing hallways, Nicky found himself growing still inside like an undisturbed water surface. Like the grey, foggy world right before sunrise. 

He has come back at least once a week ever since that first time two and a half months ago. He knows the art pieces by heart. He has his favorites where he pauses and stays until time has slipped away from him, and knows where the ones he doesn’t like are so he can let his gaze skip over them without much of a thought.

The people at the reception smile when he walks in. The guards in the exhibition rooms recognise him and grant him a small nod when he makes his usual rounds just like them. They had to kindly remind him that closing time was drawing near on more than one occasion.

It’s the place he would call home in this strange country. It’s the place he will miss most when he’ll return to his own.

When the thought of returning occurs to him, a heavy feeling settles in his stomach, leaving him faintly nauseous. A year. He has given himself a year away from it all, to find himself again. 

Still nine months and a half left. Nothing to worry about yet.

It’s a cold winter morning, a Saturday, when he’s wandering through the city and his feet take him to the museum without him noticing. He only meant to go for a short walk before spending all day on his couch binge watching a tv show he had discovered the day before.

But he can’t simply turn away now he’s standing right in front of the doors, can he? 

He stands there a second longer, but doesn’t even know who he’s kidding because he will definitely go inside. The pause does, however, make his eyes fall on one of the banners next to the doors about a new exhibition. One that opened the day before. 

He studies the banner a moment longer. _The Music of Art_ is written in an elegant font at the center, and in the corner, much smaller: _a collaboration between Nile Freeman and Yusuf al-Kaysani_. He hasn’t heard of either of them, and judging by the banner it’s an exhibition of modern art which isn’t really his thing. But still, there’s something intriguing about it. 

He steps inside and goes right to the reception. 

“Ah Nicky, I was just wondering if we’d be seeing you again this weekend,” Celeste, the receptionist, greets him.

“Of course,” Nicky says with a small smile, “I wouldn’t want to miss you for four whole days now, would I?”

Celeste grants him one of her mysterious smiles. “So the usual?”

“No actually,” Nicky says, “I just saw there’s a new exhibition, The Music of Art? Is it any good?”

“Ah, but Nicky, you know I don’t spoil the surprise of the experience.”

Nicky shrugs with a smile. “Couldn’t hurt to try.”

“True,” Celeste chuckles, already handing him a ticket for the exhibition. 

After he has paid, she wishes him a great visit and points him in the right direction.

He thanks her, leaves his coat in a locker and follows the black and purple arrows leading the way. As he’s climbing the stairs to the exhibition room, a sudden fear creeps up on him. What if by ‘music’ they mean a cacophonic mixture of car horns, dripping faucets and a wailing siren in slow motion that will most certainly give him a headache after two seconds? But surely Celeste would have warned him if that was the case, wouldn’t she? She knows he’s not the experimental art type, contrary to herself. 

That doesn’t mean she wouldn’t try to change his mind, though.

Nicky is starting to very much regret his decision when the distant sound of a piano floats to him through the hallway. Inadvertently, he picks up his pace, following the growing sound.

He stops in the doorway to the exhibition room. The walls are lined with paintings in all sizes and abstract compositions, sporadically alternated with sculptures. In the middle of it all, a black grand piano stands, filling the whole room with the most enchanting melody.

Nicky can only see a glimpse of the pianist from where he’s standing, swaying shoulders in a black shirt, a bearded chin. He steps inside the room and slowly, the piano reveals the man playing it so masterfully. He has curls and an elegant nose, his eyebrows furrow and ease and rise along with the music. His eyes are focused on his hands, and every note they play is reflected in them. 

Nicky hasn’t heard a live piano - or any live classical instrument - in a very long time. Ever since he gave up on his dream. And this man, this music he creates that is not exactly like anything Nicky has ever heard before, touches something deep within him, making him blink in surprise as he finds his eyes watery and stinging.

The man is too engrossed in his music to have noticed Nicky. Nicky turns around quickly before he does, focusing on the paintings to get a hold of himself again. 

He makes his way around the room slowly, studying every painting in detail. Despite their abstract nature, Nicky likes them. They’re made with an authenticity and integrity Nicky is rarely able to recognise in modern art. Meanwhile, the music effortlessly flows from sad, heart-aching melodies to stately marches to hopeful compositions that remind Nicky of butterfly wings. On one of the panels near the entrance, Nicky reads that ‘critically acclaimed pianist Yusuf al-Kaysani lets himself be inspired by young artist Nile Freeman’s work' and that the music he's hearing 'is solely based on improvisation.’ It only increases his admiration, he was never any good at improvising himself.

Nicky wants nothing more than to stay and listen for the entire day. But there aren’t a lot of visitors today and he feels too self-conscious about it. He draws his visit out, though, losing himself in the steady flow of the music, in the mesmerising movements and expressions of the man playing it. (Not that Nicky is staring, though, not at all.) But after almost two hours which is already ridiculous for the rather small exhibition, he becomes scared his creep-levels are sky-rocketing and leaves. 

At home, Nicky tries to watch the next episode of the tv show he intended to binge watch. Only he finds that he doesn’t care about the cliffhanger anymore, doesn’t care what happens to any of the characters. Their words drift by him in a meaningless gibberish, an unmelodic string of monotonous sounds.

He turns it off and paces to the small selection of CD’s he took with him. He picks out a collection of piano concertos and turns up the volume, for once not minding what his neighbors will think. If not every crook and corner of his apartment is filled with music, he feels like he will burst out of his skin. 

His fingers are restless and itching. His fingertips longing for the glide along strings, for exercise and swiftness. For the first time since his arrival, Nicky glances at the black case in the corner. He swallows, turns his back to it and hums along with the piano.

***

The museum staff didn’t think it was possible (to his credit, Nicky hadn’t thought so either), but Nicky visits the museum even more often now. Celeste shoots him a meaningful look every time he buys a ticket for the new exhibition, but she doesn’t say anything and Nicky is grateful for that. After his third visit, he leaves the museum shop with one of mister al-Kaysani’s CDs tucked in his pocket.

He has always thought it was silence he craved. And it was. Or had been. But now, whenever he climbed the stairs to the exhibition room and the faint notes of the piano twirled right to him, a knot in his chest unravelled, leaving space to breathe he didn’t know he had missed.

Every day, Yusuf’s music was different. Sometimes Nicky’s trained ear recognised certain themes and patterns, but Yusuf never failed to do something new with them. When with time Nicky’s ear became trained in Yusuf’s music specifically as well, he started to recognise Yusuf’s moods through his music. He heard when Yusuf was feeling joyful, content or excited. He heard when he was feeling melancholic, sad or worried, agitated, anxious or even angry. But always, every day, there was hopefulness in his music too. It was the thread binding the pearls of his various songs together. And maybe that was exactly what drew Nicky to that room time and again.

It was certainly not because Yusuf was the most breathtaking man Nicky had ever seen. 

One time, when it was calm and there weren’t many clusters of visitors to hide behind, Nicky crossed eyes with Yusuf and the man actually _winked_ at him. Nicky felt his cheeks rising to a temperature that could rival the sun’s, and quickly fled to the other side of the room.

The next time, after having chastised himself for being so childish, he met Yusuf’s eyes and nodded in greeting. It granted him a twinkling-eyed smile and despite his best efforts, Nicky couldn’t keep the temperature in his cheeks from rising again to a noon in the Sahara Desert.

But today he has managed to smile at Yusuf and blush somewhere between an acceptable and almost unnoticeable amount, so he is making progress. Warmed by Yusuf’s smile and music, Nicky wanders from painting to painting completely at ease. 

It’s a cold day and only a few courageous souls have braved the cold to come, walking sparsely through the room. Nicky takes his time admiring the art, allowing himself to let it tell him new secrets while the music sounds behind him. After a while, he realises the music fits the painting he’s watching astonishingly well. Almost too well. And the next. And the next. He turns around for a moment, but Yusuf is just playing like he always is, with heart and soul. Maybe he only imagined it. But what if…

He slowly makes his way to the next painting, and surely enough, the music changes to match the much sharper shapes in shrill colors. Nicky smiles to himself briefly, then makes his way back to the previous painting. The piano effortlessly takes up the previous melody again. 

Nicky turns around once more to find a mischievous grin on Yusuf’s face as he watches his hands fly over the keys. Nicky can’t keep the smile from his face either. He proceeds to the painting with the fierce colors again, hearing how the music changes to something hasted and agitated, and he catches Yusuf’s eyes darting to him. He stands still right in between the paintings, raising his eyebrows to Yusuf in a silent challenge.

Yusuf’s grin widens into a brilliant smile, showing his teeth. His hands keep touching the keys in an odd mixture of calm agitation. 

Then Nicky crosses the room, the music grows silent until it’s almost inaudible when he reaches the center, and grows louder again when he approaches the painting on the opposite wall. The melody has changed as well. It is sober now, slow and almost mournful. Nicky frowns at the painting because the warm oranges and yellows always reminded him of the relaxed ease that comes with a summer evening. 

He glances at Yusuf. Maybe he’d gotten tired of their game and resumed playing for another artwork. But no, he finds Yusuf’s eyes still darting to him, the smile still playing around his mouth as he continues his sorrowful melody. So Nicky crosses his arms and studies the painting again, taking a step back to get a better look. He tilts his head. There, to the left, he discerns a figure. Instinctively, he steps closer again. The figure is bent over something. Something it holds in its arms. The bent of the head, the hunch of the shoulders, though they were mere shapeless surfaces to Nicky a moment before, make his heart clench. He understands Yusuf’s melody now. How could he have ever seen anything carefree in this composition?

He turns back to Yusuf, nodding in understanding. Yusuf nods back, the corner of his mouth quirking up again, but the sadness of his music has crept into his eyes. Nicky’s chest tightens in response. He looks around and heads for the most joyful painting he can see. He hears a soft chuckle beneath the music as it changes once again, following where Nicky leads.

They continue their strange dance for Nicky knows not how long. It is playful and exciting and Nicky laughs for the first time since he came here. He hears Yusuf laugh as well, and to his surprise, it is as beautiful, if not more so, as the music he creates.

So to say the least, Nicky is surprised when a guard approaches him to announce that the museum will be closing soon. And maybe he is a little disappointed too. He thanks the guard and with a last grateful nod and mouthed ‘thank you’ to Yusuf, he leaves the exhibition room with his heart still soaring to the tunes of Yusuf’s melodies. 

He has already retrieved his coat, scarf and bag from the locker and is stepping down the stairs outside the main entrance when he hears a voice shouting behind him.

“Wait! Wait! Hey!”

He turns around and is utterly dumbfounded to find Yusuf running down the stairs towards him. To find Yusuf _smiling_ when he notices that Nicky has turned around.

He looks about him just to be sure, but there is not a soul around. “Me?” He asks just to be absolutely sure.

Yusuf chuckles. “Yes, of course you. I wanted to thank you for today.”

Nicky blinks at him a couple of times. “You’re- you’re welcome,” he manages eventually. “Surely, I should be the one thanking you. Your music is truly very beautiful. Very honest.”

Yusuf smiles and it makes crinkles appear around his eyes. “Thank you, thank you,” he says while nodding his head in answer. “May I ask you an honest question then?”

“Of course,” Nicky says, a little concerned as to what the question might be.

“May I know your name?”

A surprised laugh escapes Nicky. “Yes. Yes, you may. My name is Nicky.” 

“Nice to meet you, Nicky,” Yusuf says, holding out his hand which Nicky shakes all too gladly. “I’m Yusuf, but you can call me Joe.”

“Joe,” Nicky repeats with a smile.

They stand there for a moment longer, smiling at each other and still holding each other’s hand. Then Joe takes a step back. 

“I’d better go back before they lock me out and I can’t take my coat, because it is freezing.”

Only now does Nicky realize Yusuf - Joe - is standing in the cold evening breeze in nothing but a shirt, shivering ever so slightly. “Oh yes of course! Please do not freeze your fingers off, that would be very unfortunate.”

At that, Joe laughs, a loud belly-laugh. “That would be very unfortunate indeed. Will I see you again soon?”

Nicky tries to suppress his smile, but knows he cannot. “Of course.”

Joe’s smile grows impossibly brighter. “I’m looking forward to it. Have a safe trip home!”

“You too.” Nicky answers as Joe turns around and runs up the stairs to the warmth of the museum.

Nicky stands there for a moment longer. Then he turns around and heads home. The smile won’t leave his face for the whole way there.


	2. Quatre-mains

The storm came without warning. Well, no. The weather forecast had warned for a storm, but not a storm of this intensity. Of course, Nicky was at the museum at the moment. (He really didn’t have much of a life besides his museum visits, morning runs and the occasional trips outside the city.) And of course, he was too engrossed by Joe’s music to notice the weather outside getting worse.

When the guard approaches him, he smiles and nods, thinking he came to remind him of closing time. “Yes, I will leave right away, thank you.”

“No, No,” the guard says, “we have gotten the message that it’s too dangerous to send people outside right now, sir. So management has decided to keep the museum open until the storm has subsided. We will keep you informed and let you know when it’s safe to go outside again.”

“Is it that bad?” Nicky asks before he can think better of it.

The man smiles at his reaction. “I’m afraid so, sir.”

Nicky smiles back sheepishly. “Thank you for letting me know.”

The man nods and turns around. He walks over to Joe, gently touches his shoulder and bends to his ear to tell him about the storm. Joe keeps playing a simple melody and he looks at the guard in surprise, eyebrows shooting up. After the man has explained it to him, Joe nods and pats the hand on his shoulder, never ceasing the music with his other. With that, the guard goes on to the next room. 

Since it seems like he won't be leaving soon, Nicky sits down on the floor, with his back against a wall, to enjoy the last minutes of music. It’s almost closing time and he can hear Joe has grown tired. He plays slow, easy progressions, but it’s no less beautiful than his complicated compositions. As the clock ticks off the last seconds to 7 pm, he draws everything to a close, until the last note rings in the air, no more than an echoing memory. 

Joe jumps at the sound of Nicky clapping his hands. It’s the first time he has heard Joe stop playing and the impulse was just too strong. After all these hours he has listened to him -in the museum or coming from his speaker at home- he can finally show him his appreciation.

And the shy smile Joe casts at him makes him wish he had been there to do it all those times before. 

“Thank you,” Joe says, standing up and making a playful bow. Then he stretches and rolls his shoulders to loosen everything up. He walks over to one of the windows near the entrance of the room. “Looks like we’re stuck here.”

“There are worse places,” Nicky says, very understandably, because Joe is standing there massaging his hands, framed by the dark, stormy evening outside, but also very not-understandably because _Joe is standing right there_. “I mean, at least there is art to look at here,” he adds quickly. 

“You’re right,” Joe says and moves to one of the paintings. “And I never tire of looking at Nile’s.”

“How did you come to work together?” 

“It happened quite naturally. She was a fan of my work, told me afterwards that it inspired her a lot and helped her throughout her art studies. And I had heard of her as well and found her work incredibly refreshing. So when she reached out to me for this project, I didn’t even have to think about it.” He smiles at the memory. “We’ve become close friends since.”

A small smile tugs at Nicky’s lips. Joe moves along to the next painting and Nicky silently watches him. His profile, his relaxed shoulders, his eyes as they dart over the canvases in search of their secrets. 

“You never play the same,” Nicky hears himself say with something of wonder and quiet admiration he can't keep from his voice. “All those days I’ve returned and always you play something different.”

Joe is standing in front of the painting next to where Nicky is sitting. He huffs out a laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m as surprised as you are, believe me,” he says. “I like to challenge myself, search my limits. And improvising the whole day every day? It’s a marathon without a finish line in sight. I honestly had no idea if I would be able to do it. I thought I would be falling back in the same songs after a week. But then-” he breaks off. 

His smile turns almost shy as he casts his eyes down. Something in Nicky’s chest sparks at the sight, but he waits patiently for Joe to continue. After a second or two, Joe swallows and looks back up at the painting with a shrug.

“Well then you came. And you inspired me. Not only because I followed you around while you studied the artwork, but also because you kept coming back. So I got to the point where I was making new songs every day. For you. You became something of a muse to me, Nicky.”

Nicky didn’t know what to say, didn’t even know what to think. It occurred to him that maybe this wasn’t real, that his bored mind was conjuring up things to make life more interesting. Maybe he would wake up soon.

“Ah, that sounded way creepier than I intended,” Joe says, chuckling, “We barely know each other. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, no, no,” Nicky says quickly, eyes wide because he could not have Joe apologizing to him. “I feel honoured,” he assures him, touching his hand to his chest. “ _Veramente_.”

_And I feel like we do know each other,_ he wants to add, because it’s true as well. He feels like he has come to know this man through his music, he feels like somehow their souls have known each other for a long time. (And maybe they have.) But he keeps the words locked behind his teeth.

Joe’s smile is warm as he lowers himself to sit beside Nicky. “I’m glad,” he says softly and it makes Nicky’s heart beat a little faster.

“So what do you do in daily life?” Joe asks.

“Nothing at the moment. I’m not from here, as you may have noticed.” Nicky points at his mouth to indicate his accent.

“Yeah, I figured,” Joe answers with a chuckle. “People here aren’t usually so passionate about art.”

That makes Nicky laugh and the snort escapes him before he can prevent it. “It’s a shame,” he says. “No, but I moved here from Italy for a year. To…” he falters. To flee from everything, to start again, to find where he has lost himself. “To clear my head.”

He feels Joe’s eyes on him, but can’t bring himself to meet them. The air between them is too heavy, his words are dangling from it like weights of lead. 

“Your music helps,” Nicky continues in an attempt to cut the chords of the weights, but his throat runs dry when he hears the word leave his mouth. “I’m sorry that sounds very disrespectful. I didn’t mean- It’s not that your music-”

Joe holds a hand up. “I understand, don’t worry. And I’m glad to hear I can wipe people’s minds out. The power I have!” 

A grin appears on his face when Nicky laughs again, eyes twinkling boyishly. 

“You could be the new Superman,” Nicky says.

“Supervillain more like. Watch out, here comes the Pianoman!” And Joe wiggles his fingers in a very poor air piano rendition.

Nicky bursts out in laughter, not caring about the snorts anymore, and Joe is right behind. 

When they’ve both sobered again, they sit in silence for a while. Outside, the wind has taken over the songs of the piano in an accompaniment of thunder rumbling in the distance and rain pelting against the windows. Joe’s hands open and close in his lap to stretch and ease his overworked muscles. Open and close, open and close. They are pianist hands, with long and elegant fingers, quick and precise as lightning.

“Do you play?” Joe asks, startling Nicky from his thoughts. Joe must’ve noticed him staring at his hands, for he gestures at Nicky’s.

"The piano, do you play?" he clarifies.

Nicky hides his hands instinctively. “A little bit. But I’m really no good.”

“So you know which notes are which on the keys?" 

"Yes," Nicky answers as he watches Joe stand up.

"And do you know chords?"

"I do, but I don't know-"

"Great, that's all you need. Let's play." And Joe holds out his hand to help Nicky up.

Nicky stares at it as if it comes from another planet.

"No, but I don't- It's been such a long time since I played the piano and I was never any…"

Joe just raises his eyebrow at him meaningfully. 

"Good," Nicky finishes and takes Joe's hand.

Joe sits on the piano stool and motions for Nicky to join him. The stool is entirely too small for the both of them, causing Nicky to sit on it only halfway and press his right shoulder and thigh to Joe’s left. He can feel the heat of Joe’s skin radiating through their layers of clothes. Nicky wants to scoot over to create some distance, but if he moves even an inch, he will fall off, so he stays put.

Fortunately, Joe doesn’t seem to notice or care. He points at the keys in front of Nicky. “Okay, you start with some chords and I’ll join you.”

“You mean as in improvising?”

Joe chuckles. “Yes, I mean as in improvising. But don’t worry about it, you can keep it as simple as you like. Just give me something to work with and we’ll make something of it.”

A slight sense of panic is writhing in Nicky’s stomach and he feels his skin heat up. His fingers hover over the mute keys. Improvising intimidates him. Always has. He is not confident enough that he will create something worth listening to, and if he isn’t confident he doesn’t try. Because everything he plays has to be worthwhile, has to be good, has to be perf-

“Stop thinking, Nicky,” Joe says softly and he’s so close that his breath ghosts Nicky’s cheek. 

His fingers fall down. A minor, he has always loved that chord. After one bar, his hands find E minor, then F major, then go back to E but in major this time. 

“Oh I see, you like it dramatic,” Joe says, and Nicky almost stops playing and wants to tell Joe he’ll just listen to him play, but then Joe continues: “It’s beautiful.” And all words leave Nicky.

So Nicky repeats the sequence once more. The next time, Joe joins in. He plays few notes, allows them to drag on. Then he starts a melody with his right hand on the higher keys. It is beautiful in its simplicity, in its honesty, in its tragedy. Gradually, it becomes more complex and Joe’s left hand starts playing in pursuit of his right, echoing the notes.

As Joe’s song comes to life, Nicky gets more comfortable, daring some alterations, braving a wider range of keys within his territory. Sometimes adding a seven to the chords, or playing a sus that resolves to its base chord in a satisfying way.

Then the melody stops.

“What are you doing?” Nicky asks because Joe stands up and comes to stand at his other side. He hovers his hands above Nicky’s.

“We’re switching. I’ll take over in three… two… one… now!”

Nicky draws his hands back and Joe continues with only a slight hitch in the progression of the chords. Nicky scoots over so Joe can take his place.

Nicky hesitates. His hands float over the keyboard, unsure where to land or what to do.

Joe keeps playing and it sounds like a question, his right hand dancing across the area where their reaches meet. 

_Stop thinking, Nicky._

So Nicky plays. And it’s not perfect, but it’s not too bad either. He starts out careful, a little hesitant. He cringes and hurries to apologize every time he accidentally plays a wrong note. But Joe, brilliant, talented Joe, always knows how to change the chords just so that it fits right in.

After a while, Nicky grows more confident, trusting Joe to follow him and transform his mistakes into something beautiful. He doesn’t have the technique and practice to make such impressive arrangements as Joe, but still he manages to play something decent. 

Inside Nicky’s chest, something stirs. Like a shy flame sparking into existence. The song that reaches his ears, his hands creating music again after yearning for it so long, Joe’s presence by his side, it all makes the warmth spread from his chest to the rest of his body. He can’t remember the last time he felt this happy.

But it also makes an ache inside him stand out all the starker.

Still, it cannot overshadow the joy he’s feeling, the thrill he has missed for so long. As if he has found a shard of what he was looking for. A crucial sliver that, however tiny it might be, makes him feel whole again for just a moment.

With a shared look, they draw their song to a close. Long after the last note has faded away, they sit there while the silence settles in again.

“You’re a musician,” Joe says after a while. It’s not a question.

“Not professionally,” Nicky answers, keeping his eyes fixed on the keys. “And not really in any other way anymore either.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see Joe opening his mouth to say something else, but the sound of footsteps startles them.

Nicky turns to look at the entrance, where the guard who warned them earlier is approaching them again. Nicky is suddenly very aware of every inch where he’s touching Joe. He stands up, taking a couple steps along the piano to create some distance between them.

“Booker,” Joe greets the guard. “Any news?”

“Yes!” Booker says, “It’s all clear to go. Though you should still be careful, of course.”

After Joe and Nicky thanked him, he goes on to search for other lost souls in the museum.

“Let’s go downstairs then,” Joe says and closes the lid of the piano. 

After they have gathered their stuff, they walk through the exit of the museum together. It’s still drizzling, but at least the wind isn’t so strong anymore. 

“Thank you for this,” Nicky says as they descend the stairs. “I needed it more than I thought.”

Joe’s smile is warm and sincere. “I enjoyed it too. I’m glad I got stuck with you, Nicky.”

Nicky can’t keep the smile from his face and tries to hide it by looking at his feet. At the bottom of the stairs, Nicky gathers all his courage and asks: “Could I maybe have your number?”

He has never done anything like this. He feels lightheaded by the thrill of it.

“I was about to ask you the same,” Joe says and makes Nicky’s heart skip a beat.

After exchanging phone numbers and saying goodbye with goofy grins on their faces and a promise to do that again soon, they part ways. 

It’s only when Nicky’s standing in front of his door, fumbling through his bag and all his pockets ten times that he realizes he has lost his keys somewhere. He stands there for five minutes more before fishing out his phone.

It takes only three rings before a voice answers him on the other side. “Hello, Joe, it’s Nicky. I am very sorry to bother you, but I seem to have lost my keys somewhere. Is there any possibility I can come to you?”

***

“Thank you again, for having me,” Nicky says, sitting on Joe’s couch after a meal spent in pleasant conversations and laughter. It has been the best dinner Nicky has had in years.

“What should I have done, let you freeze in the cold?” Joe asks as he lights some of the numerous candles littering the living room. “If anything, I should have you come over every night, just to make sure I won’t make any more unforgivable mistakes in the kitchen.”

Nicky ducks his head. “I couldn’t stand by and let you do that, I’m sorry.” Because when he saw which type of pasta Joe took out of a cupboard to go with the sauce he was preparing, he just _had_ to intervene. 

Joe shakes the match to extinguish it. “No, you were absolutely right. It would have been horrible. Disgusting, atrocious. You have saved us from food poisoning. Besides, I should have known better than trying to impress an Italian guy with my cooking.”

“Than trying to impress an Italian guy with _Italian_ cooking,” Nicky corrects. “I don’t know much about other cuisines.”

“Huh, I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

Joe falls down on the couch next to Nicky, a bright sparkle in his eyes. Nicky has difficulty looking away, but forces himself to avert his gaze to not be caught staring. His ears pick up the music - piano, of course - coming from the speaker.

“Der Erlkönig,” Nicky says, his fingers tapping along with the notes.

“A connoisseur,” Joe says approvingly.

Nicky shrugs and looks at his hands. “It’s quite well known. But I’ve only ever heard the one for voice.”

Joe nods, taking a sip from his tea. “This is Liszt’s arrangement. It was one of the first piano pieces I fell in love with. It’s the best of both worlds: poetry and music. Just listen to how many emotions this one song can harbor.”

Sure enough, the music changes from merry carelessness to panicked fear.

“Do you find your inspiration in poetry too?” Nicky asks, his eyes automatically gliding over the shelves stacked with books in different states of wear. Besides English books, there’s also Arabic, French, a language Nicky doesn’t recognize immediately and to his surprise even a couple of Italian ones. Some of the names ring a bell, but most of them are completely new to him. 

“Definitely. Even when playing for Nile’s pieces, I often think of certain poems I’ve read that I think capture the feeling of her work really well and let them guide my hands as well.”

Maybe it’s the lingering taste of the dinner’s comfortable ease. Maybe it’s the low light of the candles enveloping everything in a warm, intimate glow. Maybe it’s the passion on Joe’s face when he talks about music and art and poetry.

Nicky finds himself saying, “It’s the cello. I play… I used to play the cello.”

Joe turns his head to him, leaning his elbow on the back of the couch and resting his chin on his hand. The sparkle in his eyes softens. “It suits you,” he says. Then his eyebrows draw together a little. “Why did you stop? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Nicky is silently regretting he refused the tea; he would’ve liked to have something to keep his hands busy. 

“I had to,” Nicky says and tries a smile but it hurts his cheeks so he lets it slip almost immediately. “My parents disapproved. They didn’t mind it so much until I told them I wanted to go to the conservatory. They wouldn’t have any of it, always telling me there’s no future in music for me.”

“Well, it’s true that it’s not always easy, but no future at all?” There’s a frown on Joe’s face. “Seems a little exaggerated, don’t you think?”

“Ah no, I’m not expressing myself correctly. They meant that in music there would be no salvation for someone like me in the future. In the afterlife.” 

Nicky is grateful he manages to keep his voice even. He tries to breathe away the heavy feeling dragging at his heart and forcefully pushes back the memories. He focuses on the books on the shelves, as if he can suddenly read Arabic if he looks at them hard enough.

Joe’s voice is soft, careful, when he asks, “Someone like you?”

Nicky takes a breath and looks Joe in the eye, because he’s Nicky here and he promised himself not to lie about who he is anymore. “Gay.”

And it surprises him how freeing it feels to say it aloud. His heart is racing but it’s not only panic this time, it’s something thrilling as well. And does Joe perk up a little too, or is he just imagining things?

No, he’s smiling now. That bright smile of his that makes his eyes shimmer and Nicky’s heart skip a beat. And Nicky can’t help but smile as well, because…

“You too?” he asks.

Joe is already nodding. “Yes, very,” he says which makes Nicky laugh. 

He feels like he’s drunk all of a sudden. There’s a giddiness inside him making him feel like a teenage boy again. He’s never met someone… like him before. Or at least not someone who seemed to be so at ease with it, so confident in his own skin. And the openness and warmth in Joe’s gaze as he looks at him- Nicky looks down at his own wringing hands, unable to keep the smile from his face. 

When his heart has calmed down again, he asks, “And your parents? Do they know?”

Joe chuckles. “They knew before I did. When I came out they said it was about time.”

“That must’ve been wonderful,” Nicky says and means it with all his heart.

“Yes, I’m very lucky.” Joe’s eyes grow distant for a second, lost in a fond memory. Then he looks up at Nicky again. “But you listened to yours? You didn’t go to the conservatory?”

“No,” Nicky says. “I went to the seminary instead. It was my only hope.” An undertone of bitterness has crept into his voice. “But it was-”

He shakes his head. No, those feelings belonged to the past, he didn’t want them tainting this moment too. He takes a breath. “I got out. And I moved here for a year to…”

“Clear your head.”

Nicky smiles at Joe.

They sit in silence for a while, enjoying the music. A piece Nicky doesn’t recognise but Joe absentmindedly taps along with his fingers.

Nicky startles when Joe speaks again, even more so at his words.

“Will you play for me sometime?”

Nicky opens his mouth, his usual protests ready to roll from his tongue. But then he looks at Joe, Joe sitting there so cozy on the couch, his feet tucked beneath Nicky’s legs - he doesn’t even know when that happened but he can’t say he minds - and a lazy smile on his face, and every protest leaves him. 

“Of course,” he says. “I will play for you sometime. But,” he adds, his finger in the air, “you have to give me some time because I have to figure out which string is which again.”

Which grants him a full belly-laugh and a playful pillow slap from Joe.

And when Nicky is comfortably tucked in on the couch a couple of hours later and the scent of blown out candles still hangs foggily in the air, he smiles to himself and knows there’s nowhere else he would rather be now. 

He glances at Joe’s closed bedroom door. Okay, maybe there is one place he would rather be.


	3. Da Capo

“I am sorry, my love. Please, don’t be angry with me.”

Nicky gently takes the cello from its case. The wood is cool, but achingly familiar beneath his skin. He sits down behind the music stand he’s set ready for himself. He guesses how long the cello’s endpin has to be for a comfortable position, and adjusts it several times afterwards before he’s content. He opens the tuning app on his phone and puts it on the music stand with a fearful heart.

He takes his bow in hand, takes a deep breath and braces himself before playing an open A string. He breaks off almost immediately and winces.

It did not sound like anything close to an A.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbles in Italian again, already turning the fine tuners completely loose. 

After a bit of a struggle up and down the fine tuners and pegs, every string sounds as it is supposed to and Nicky puts his phone away again. He stares blankly at the music sheets for a minute, his quickened heartbeat pounding in his ears, before deciding to start with some warmup exercises. Nothing too challenging, nothing that has to sound beautiful already, just to get the edge off. 

And to let his poor fingers adjust to the sharpness of the strings again, because four years of not playing have wiped away all the callouses he had worked so hard on. But there will be time to mourn them later, now he mustn’t think about it. It will only distract him.

So he does some exercises and it’s surprisingly easy. His fingers find the positions again effortlessly, as if they’ve done it only yesterday. And his ears remember the course of the scales, guiding his fingers where to go. 

When he’s satisfied with the exercises and his fingers are loosened up, he flips through his sheet music in search of something fairly easy to start with. He decides on The Swan by Saint-Saëns, a peaceful song to get to know the strings again. 

His first playthrough is so horrible he almost puts his cello right back into its case so he will never torture it again. He doesn’t, though, and plays it again instead. It’s better already. He repeats the parts he struggles with until his fingers remember them and plays the song a third time.

He smiles by the end, a thrilling excitement fluttering in his chest.

He plays more songs, plays until his right shoulder hurts and the fingertips of his left hand are burning. Then he plays some more because he can’t stop himself. As if he’s afraid he won’t be able to play again for another four years. As if the urge to create music has been heaping and heaping up inside of him and has to be let out all at the same time.

The next day isn’t any different. And the day after and after and after. He plays and plays and is glad to notice improvement even after such a short time, to notice that it all comes back so quickly and he hasn’t lost everything he’s worked so hard on. 

He can’t wait to show Joe.

But he is so caught up in his rediscovered love, that he hasn’t even noticed it’s been a week and a half since he’s been to the museum and has actually seen Joe. And he would’ve lived in oblivion even longer if it weren’t for a text message waiting for him after another day of rehearsing.

His heart skips a beat when he sees it’s from Joe.

_Has my food chased you away for good?_ Followed by a little square.

He looks at the date and blinks at it for five full minutes. Has it really been so long?

_No, of course not! I’m sorry for not keeping in touch. I’m preparing and lost track of the days._

Not even a minute later, his phone vibrates with a response. _Preparing???_ Followed by several of those mysterious squares this time.

Nicky smiles, picks his cello up again and takes a selfie - it takes a couple of tries since he has never done it before. He presses send before he can think better of it. For some reason, his heart is racing.

In the seven minutes it takes Joe to answer, Nicky has started to regret sending the photo, convinced it’s horribly stupid and he looks awful in it.

Then, the phone vibrates again.

_What a beauty. And the cello too. :)_

A second later, another text arrives: _It’s almost like we’re playing together from a distance. I’m looking forward to hear it with my own ears sometime!_

Nicky can’t keep the grin from his face. 

_That can be arranged. But can I ask, what are all those squares at the end of your messages?_

Within five seconds, he receives an answer in all caps. And so their never-ending conversation starts.

***

Nicky wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans for what must be the seventh time in three minutes. He adjusts his endpin once more, only a fraction of an inch.

“I’m a little nervous,” Nicky admits when he sits upright again.

“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed,” Joe says from the couch where he’s been waiting patiently for Nicky’s concert to start for the past fifteen minutes.

A breathy laugh escapes Nicky. “No, but seriously, don’t expect too much. It’s been only three weeks since I’ve been playing again.” 

He doesn’t say he’s been playing for around eight hours each day in those three weeks. Except for the days he paid a visit to the museum, of course, though they had become rare and far between. Or at least far between for what it had been. 

“Relax, Nicky,” Joe says, smiling encouragingly. “Take a deep breath and play. It’s just me.”

Nicky would like to object that the problem is that it’s _exactly him_ , but he bites his tongue, puts his fingers in position, bow ready on the A string, and takes a deep breath with closed eyes. He imagines the piano starting to play, he imagines a pianist with dark curls and intense eyes that reflect every note he plays. 

Nicky begins.

He’s chosen Élégie Op. 24 by Fauré, one of his favourite pieces to play. The difficulty of the beginning lies not in the technique, but in the emotion it has to convey, and in setting the right pace. It’s tempting to start out too fast, but that will get him in trouble later. 

The nerves ebb away with the first few notes. His fingers know exactly where to go, his heart tells him where to be quiet and on which notes to linger, his whole body moves along with the song, tensing when the music builds up as well.

But the tension is released again, and Nicky plays the next part softly. It’s the part where the piano should take over for a moment. He can hear it, the light notes like a peaceful creek flowing by. He can see the pianist, moving along as well, his face a portrait of a soft, private joy. 

Then Nicky takes over the melody again. It’s a more challenging part, but no less lovely than the piano before. Until it turns tense again, threatening, and bursts into frantic notes in rapid succession. Nicky slows down minutely, his fingers haven’t regained all their lost swiftness yet, but he manages to get through it. And when the song breaks open into a dramatic reprise of the theme from the beginning, a flood of emotions explodes in Nicky’s chest. He feels the pain of the music, feels its heartbreak. He gives it his all until it quiets down again until it is nothing more than a hushed, open C string, the lowest note he can play. 

In his head the piano takes over again for a little, a sad echo of its previous solo. Nicky joins in again with the heart-wrenching aftershocks of the story the song has told. They almost sound like questions. Questions to which the very last bars have a definite, dispirited answer. Nicky draws them out, giving each note the weight it deserves. The last note is only a wisp, a lonely shadow so fragile it would disappear at the smallest disturbance in the air.

He jumps at Joe’s loud exhale, opening his eyes to find Joe sitting on the edge of his seat. His heart nearly stops as he sees Joe’s eyes.

“Joe, are you… are you crying?”

Joe wipes at his eyes, sniffing. “Well if I am, it’s your fault. God, Nicky, I tried not to expect too much because you told me not to, but that was _not_ fair. I wasn’t prepared for this at all.”

"Oh but it wasn't… I mean, I slowed down at the fast part and messed up some of the notes," Nicky says, because he's never received a compliment like that before and doesn't know what to do with it for the life of him.

"Who cares about that, Nicky? No really, who cares?" Joe repeats at Nicky's nervous chuckle. "I didn't even notice, because it was so enchanting, so _real_..." he pauses, as if searching for the right words. Eventually, he stops searching and looks Nicky straight in the eye. "Can you do me a favor, Nicky?"

The serious look on his face sobers Nicky's earlier shyness at the praise. "Of course," he says. _Anything._

"Never stop playing. And never doubt yourself again."

_Those are two favors_ , Nicky wants to say, but the sincerity of Joe's gaze refrains him. He smiles gratefully and nods. "I will try."

"Good," Joe says and smiles too, his eyes alight. "So that was Fauré, right? And it usually has a piano accompaniment if I'm not mistaken?"

"Yes, it does," Nicky says, already shortening the endpin again to put everything away.

"What are you doing?" Joe asks. He has taken his tablet out from somewhere and is tapping away on it.

"Ehm… Putting away my cello?"

"Why? Don't you want to try it together?" Joe says with the widest grin Nicky has ever seen as he turns his tablet to show Nicky the piano sheet of the piece.

Nicky laughs, his heart picking up its pace. "How could I ever say no to that?"

***

_You still awake?_

Nicky squints at Joe's message. He forgot to put it on silent for the night and the loud pinging sound startled him awake. He peers at the time. 2.36 AM. 

He should put his phone away and go back to sleep before it eludes him again. He should answer tomorrow with a clear head and should not set any expectations that he would be answering texts at ungodly hours of the night in the future.

Nicky has little self control if said texts at ungodly hours of the night come from beautiful pianists, so it seems, because he is already typing.

_No. ___

__He wants to ask if everything is alright, since maybe Joe is texting him because something is horribly wrong and oh God he's trying to be funny when actually-_ _

__Joe's answer interrupts his spiralling thoughts._ _

___Very funny_ (Some squares that should be the emojis Joe has shown him) _but now that I have your attention… I have a surprise for you. :)))__ _

__Nicky finds the face smiling at him faintly disturbing. It seems way more threatening than it should._ _

___What kind of surprise?_ _ _

___Meet me at the museum tomorrow around closing time._ _ _

__Nicky's heart is racing. If there's anything he finds more disturbing than passive aggressive looking emojis, it's surprises._ _

___For what? WHAT KIND OF SURPRISE, JOE?_ _ _

___;))))_ , is his only answer, followed by even more frustratingly mysterious squares._ _

__He sends some more texts, but Joe tells him goodnight and doesn't answer anymore. He lies awake for the rest of the night._ _

____

***

Nicky gravitates towards the piano at closing time. He arrived an hour ago to hear Joe play, but the nerves for Joe’s surprise made him pace around the exhibition seven times in the span of that hour.

“Thank you, Nicky,” Joe says with a laugh as Nicky applauds after his last note.

The smile that lingers is positively mischievous. 

Nicky feels like he will burst out of his skin any minute. He takes a deep breath and tries to ask as casually as possible, “So, Joe, what is-”

“Ah, there you are! And you’re on time!” Joe exclaims, looking at a point over Nicky’s shoulder. 

“Don’t act so surprised. When I’m late it’s just because the others are early. But I gotta get going again in five minutes to pick up Quynh from the airport.”

Nicky turns around to watch the newcomer and his stomach drops.

He knows her. Well, not personally, but he knows her. How could he not? Every self-respecting classical musician knows her. Even the wannabe classical musicians like him.

It’s Andromache. _The_ Andromache. She is a musical genius. She knows how to play more instruments than Nicky can count, is the conductor of one of the most renowned orchestras in the world and has her own conservatory that delivered some of the most acclaimed musicians of this century.

And Joe hugs her in greeting, just like that. 

Nicky is so starstruck he misses the introductions entirely. He only regains his composure when Andromache holds out her hand and he takes it quickly to shake it.

Her grip is strong and borders on being painful. But it’s good, it brings him back to himself a little.

“Nice to meet you,” he even manages to say. Yes, he can be proud of himself.

“Nice to meet you too, Nicky. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Her eyes dart to Joe, the corners of her mouth curling upwards.

“You did?” Nicky glances at Joe as well who lifts his hands in innocence, but the smug grin gives him away.

“Yes, he thinks you’ve got potential.” She looks him up and down, then nods to herself. “You know what? Since Joe has such faith in you and I like having fun, why don’t we make something special of your audition? Yes.” She smiles. “Let’s make it a concert! Oh, I can’t wait to tell Quynh. She’ll love this. And you should play too, Joe.” She turns to Joe, which is good because she won’t notice Nicky having an internal crisis that way. 

“Yeah, of course, sounds like fun,” Joe says and the bastard means it too.

“Great! And for a date… Let’s say March. March sounds like a good time.” She looks at her watch. “Shit, gotta go. I’ll keep you updated. It was nice meeting you, Nicky! And we should really try that new Indian place some time soon, Joe.” 

She shakes Nicky’s hand again and gives Joe a quick hug before leaving in a hurry.

Nicky blinks at the door she just disappeared from. March. _March_. That’s not even four months away. He’s just been playing again for four weeks.

Nicky lies down on the ground, staring up at the ceiling.

Joe stops talking - Nicky hadn’t even noticed he started talking in the first place - and kneels next to Nicky. Nicky turns his head to stare at him. The mirth is still clear in his eyes but, to his credit, there’s also concern in the set of his eyebrows.

“You,” Nicky says pointedly, “are going to help me practice. To make up for this.”

Joe bursts out in relieved laughter, the tension leaving his eyebrows. He nods and puts a hand to his chest. “ _Naturalmente_.”

Despite everything, Nicky smiles.


	4. A Cappella

In the following weeks, Nicky spends his days practicing in his apartment and his nights at Joe’s place to rehearse together. On most of those nights it gets too late to go home again which is why Joe’s couch has come to be a very dear friend of Nicky’s despite Joe’s countless offers that Nicky should just sleep in his bed.

He says he doesn’t want to bother Joe by waking him every five minutes because he thrashes in his sleep.

He doesn't say that he's certain he wouldn’t sleep a wink, knowing who was lying right next to him. Because it seems Nicky’s resolve to be honest to himself is actually working: he has come to the realisation that he is utterly, unconditionally, head over heels in love with Joe. 

The realisation hit on an early morning, when Joe entered the living room, still in his oversized shirt and boxers, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. He’d granted Nicky, who had already showered, read several poems in a poetry book Joe had recommended and was almost finished preparing breakfast, a sleepy smile and an even sleepier ‘Good morning’. He sauntered to the window, opening it despite the morning frost outside. He closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh air as the early winter sun bathed his face in its precious light.

Still with his eyes closed, he’d said: “A beautiful day, don’t you think?”

_Not as beautiful as you are._

It was this thought that made the plates slip from Nicky’s hands, crashing to the floor in jangling shards. Joe jumped and rushed to Nicky, asking if he was alright. Nicky could not meet his eyes and told him to stay away so he wouldn’t cut his bare feet, ignoring Joe’s worries about his own bare feet.

That’s when he knew. And now that he knows, he can’t unthink it. And every time he sees Joe, he falls a little deeper. 

But he can’t think about that. First of all because Joe is a good friend and is just being his immensely kind self to him and deserves someone who could make him just as happy. Second of all, which really should be first of all now he thinks about it, because he has something much bigger to worry about right now. He has little over three months to prepare for the concert that holds his entire future in its hands.

Andy has chosen Elgar’s Cello Concerto in E Minor, Op. 85 for the occasion, and has given Joe carte blanche to choose a piece for the two of them. Every time Nicky asks him about it, a private smile plays around Joe’s lips, a smile that Nicky almost thinks is not meant for him to see, and says he has yet to make a decision.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit strange?” Nicky asks Joe when he holds the sheet music of the concerto in his hands for the first time, trying to swallow his panic.

“What is?” Joe is already studying his own copy while the first notes blast through the speakers.

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Shouldn’t I learn how to play first and then give a concert?”

Joe looks up, an almost apologising smile on his face. “That’s Andy for you. She doesn’t do it out of malice, I just think she tends to forget not everyone likes to be thrown to the wolves like that.”

“Hm,” Nicky says, staring at the sheet with creased eyebrows.

Joe pauses the music and reaches over the table to put a hand on Nicky’s arm. “It will be fine, Nicky. You will be fine. You already know how to play, and we’re going to rehearse, rehearse, rehearse until we can play it in our sleep. And despite how out of touch with reality Andy can be sometimes, she knows you haven’t had a higher music education yet. And otherwise there’s always Quynh who will remind her.” His smile turns fond at that, and even fonder when he says, “You’re not alone in this, Nicky.”

Nicky looks at Joe’s hand, squeezing his arm gently. He swallows the flare of panic away and nods.

After a second Joe draws back again. “So, let’s begin, shall we?”

Nicky takes a deep breath, picks up a pencil and sweeps it in the air. “ _Musica, maestro_!”

***

Nicky works harder than he has ever done before. So far, he’s made good progress. Joe has been a great help as well, analyzing the piece with him, listening intently when Nicky wants feedback on certain parts and pointing out what needs improvement. He even learns some of the orchestral parts as well to help him with the rhythm.

“That sounded good!” Joe says as they finish a part. “Just be careful to not let the violins confuse you there, when they go-" he quickly plays their part on the piano. "And you can listen to the flutes to keep the right pace when you do the-” and he sings the lead melody. 

Nicky is staring out of the window. The sun is setting, casting long shadows over the world. The occasional snowflake gently drifts by. 

“Nicky, are you listening?”

Nicky tears his gaze away. “Yes of course, I’ll try to listen to the flutes.”

There’s a pause. Then, “Are you alright? You seem a little distracted today.”

The question sends a pang through Nicky’s chest. He busies himself with fractionally turning his fine tuners. “I’m sorry, it’s nothing to worry about really.”

“Still,” Joe says and there’s something in his voice that makes Nicky’s hand pause. “I’d like to know.”

“It’s just… It’s Christmas tomorrow.”

He hears Joe shift on his piano stool and Nicky’s eyes dart to him. His eyebrows are drawn together in understanding. 

“Are you going to celebrate it?”

“Maybe? I don’t know,” he says with a sigh. “But it’s fine, it’s not like I have people to celebrate it with here.”

“I’m here,” Joe says and Nicky’s head snaps up to him. “We can prepare a feast and watch a Christmas movie or whatever else you like to do on Christmas.”

“Would you want to do that?”

“Of course.”

Those words, however simple, resonate within Nicky’s chest. He wonders once again how Joe manages to put so much unconditional kindness into the world. How could anyone not fall in love with him?

“Also,” Joe continues with a little laugh, “I wanted to keep it a surprise, though I know now that you don’t like surprises so I might as well ruin it already, but I may have bought you a Christmas gift.”

Nicky’s eyes widen. “Are you serious? Oh but Joe, you shouldn’t have. Now I don’t have anythi-”

Joe gently silences him with a raised hand. “That’s fine, that’s fine. I just had an idea and needed an excuse to give it to you. And if you really feel too bad for not getting me anything, simply play something for me and I will be the happiest man in the world.”

Nicky smiles, barely containing the joy he’s feeling inside. There are tears stinging behind his eyes and he blinks them away. 

“Then I will play for you,” Nicky says. _I would play a thousand songs and more for you if it would make you the happiest man in the world._

Later, when they’re ready for bed (and couch) and Joe is about to disappear to his room, Nicky stops him, “Joe.”

Joe turns around, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

“I think I’d like to go to church tomorrow.”

Joe lowers his eyebrows and blinks slowly in understanding. “Would you like me to go with you?”

Nicky exhales the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He doesn’t know if he could have asked it himself. He whispers, “Yes. Please.”

Joe nods. “Then we’ll go together.”

“Thank you, Joe,” Nicky says. There’s so much more he wants to say, so much that he doubts he could say it all in one night. So much that he doesn’t even know how he could possibly say it all out loud. “Good night.”

“Good night, Nicky,” Joe whispers and goes to bed.

That night, Nicky prays for the first time in almost six months, thanking God for leading him to Joe.

***

“Nicky. Nicky, _destati_.”

When he feels a hand gently pushing his shoulder, Nicky opens his eyes. He squeezes them shut again against the light, stretching beneath the warm covers. “Joe?” Joe is never awake before him. “How long did I sleep?”

“No longer than usual. I just made an inhumane effort so I hope you appreciate it.”

Nicky snorts, rubbing his eyes. “I do, I do. And I appreciate your adorably antiquated Italian as well.”

Joe laughs at that and it’s the best sound to be waking up to. “Well, I did say I learned it by listening to too many operas, so I’m not responsible for the possible outdatedness of my Italian." Joe jumps up. "So are you coming out of bed already or what?"

"I like it better when you are still-" Nicky breaks off as he sits upright and looks about the room. There are string lights everywhere and in every color imaginable, birthday garlands spanning the walls, confetti, balloons, candles, some twigs from a bush outside. It's pure chaos and such a beautiful mess that it makes Nicky's heart swell.

"You did all this?" Nicky asks, breathless. His eyes land on Joe who's beaming brighter than the sun.

"I had to improvise a little since I don't have any Christmas decorations. And it was a little late to go buy a Christmas tree, but I drew one on there."

Nicky follows Joe's finger to some sheets of paper patched together to fit a drawing of a giant Christmas tree on it. Nicky walks over to get a better look, laughing. "It's stunning, Joe. It even has a little cello in it!" 

"And a bow over here." Joe is standing next to him, so close Nicky can feel the warmth of his skin, the brush of his arm against his elbow as he points to the bow. He stifles the urge to put his arm around Joe's waist.

"So I think I deserve my private concert."

"Absolutely," Nicky agrees with a huge grin on his face. "But let me at least eat breakfast first."

After breakfast and some quick warm up exercises, Nicky plays a nocturne of Tchaikovsky for Joe, followed by a very much improvised version of Silent Night they try to patch up together by ear. It sounds quite decent, if they may say so themselves.

When Nicky comes out of the shower, Joe is waiting for him in the living room by his drawn tree. He has that shimmer in his eyes that tells Nicky he's up to something. A giddy excitement sparks in Nicky's belly at the sight. 

"Close your eyes and put your hands out in front," Joe says and Nicky obeys. He squeezes his eyes shut very demonstratively. Something light is placed in his hands. A piece of paper? Maybe another drawing? Or a poem Joe read recently?

"Okay, you can look now."

He opens his eyes. At first he's not sure what the small, blue cards are, but then he reads them and his mouth falls open.

"The opera? We're going to the opera?"

"Yes!" Joe yells, throwing his hands in the air in excitement.

"Joe, that's brilliant. _Grazie mille._ " And before he can think of it, he's hugging Joe and Joe is hugging him back and even lifting him a little off the ground. They laugh and stand there hugging a moment longer. When they draw away, it's almost like magnets being pulled apart. Their eyes meet and Nicky’s breath stills in his lungs. He almost does it, almost closes the distance and for a moment, only one fraction of a second, Nicky imagines that Joe wants to do the same. But no, that's not possible.

Nicky clears his throat, looking at the tickets in his hands as if he has won the lottery.

"Merry Christmas, Nicky," Joe says softly.

Nicky looks up again, at Joe's easy smile, the freckles dusting the bridge of his nose and his cheeks. Yes, maybe he has won the lottery. 

"Merry Christmas, Joe."

***

"You ready?"

Nicky clenches his jaw and nods. Together, they go inside.

They've picked out the oldest church of the city, which still feels very young and innocent to Nicky. There's no Mass going on currently, but there are a lot of people praying or lighting a candle or talking in hushed voices. Smiles everywhere.

Nicky makes the sign of a cross. Joe looks around, eyes darting to the high ceiling. 

After Nicky has lit a candle, they go to sit on a pew in the back. It's cold in the church, as if they believe they have no need for heating because the festivities will be enough to warm up the room. 

Nicky takes his rosary from his pocket. Another thing he doesn't know why he has even taken it with him. He can feel Joe's eyes on his hands, on the beads dangling from between them. Joe doesn't say anything and Nicky doesn't pray. He merely holds it, a familiar memory against his skin. There was once a time when he'd found solace and comfort in prayer, a safe haven to put the worries of his soul to rest. A promise to be heard. To be heard, finally, by someone who was listening to him with an open heart that held all of humanity and that had room even for him.

How wrong he had been.

He does not realise he's crying until a warm hand envelops his. His grip loosens around the rosary so the hand can slip between both of his and take hold of his left hand, intertwining their fingers.

Nicky sniffles, trying to keep the sobs inside. He holds on to the hand, probably squeezing a little too hard. But Joe's hand is strong and unwavering and holds him just as tightly.

Time slips away from them as they sit there in silence. In that cold church surrounded by celebrating people, with tears silently slipping from Nicky's eyes and their hands folded together in an entirely new prayer Nicky has only just begun to learn the words of.

***

Back at Joe's place, after a truly delicious dinner that easily makes it in Nicky’s top three of Christmas feasts, they mess around on the piano for a while, improvising like that time in the museum. Nicky’s side is warm where it is pressed against Joe, his skin tingling. His cheeks are hot and probably brightly flushed from laughter.

He sneaks in some Jingle Bells and O Christmas Tree, earning him bright exclamations of Joe. Joe immediately joins him in the melodies, transforming them in some terribly difficult compositions. Nicky stops playing and lets Joe take over the keys as he produces a whole medley of Christmas songs right on the spot. Nicky can’t help himself and puts his hand on the small of Joe’s back, supposedly to grant Joe easier access to the lower keys. 

Joe brings everything to a close after a masterful rendition of We Wish You a Merry Christmas, and Nicky cheers. 

“For someone who usually doesn’t celebrate Christmas, you know a lot of Christmas songs,” Nicky remarks.

“That’s not so hard when they slap you in the face everywhere you go as soon as December starts. And they are so horribly catchy.”

Nicky snorts. “They really are.”

He doesn’t know when it happened, but somehow his hand is resting all the way on the top of Joe’s back now. His fingers are drawing small circles on the soft skin of the back of his neck. He should probably stop. But Joe doesn’t seem to mind. 

Joe turns his head to look at him and his eyes hold such tenderness that Nicky’s fingers fall still.

“I’ve made a choice,” Joe says. “For our piece at the concert.”

“Oh?” Nicky asks softly, his heart flutters.

Joe turns his attention back to the keys and sits a little straighter. Nicky takes his hand away from Joe’s back and he thinks he sees Joe’s eyes dart to him, but it is over so quickly that he can’t be sure. 

Joe starts to play and the whole room breathes with his music. It’s a waltz. A waltz so beautiful everything quietens inside of Nicky, as if there’s only room for the music. He watches Joe’s nimble, elegant hands as they dart lightly over the keys, almost as if they are caressing them, producing more notes than Nicky thinks is possible. Nicky could watch him play forever, could listen to this for the rest of his life and be happy. 

But unfortunately, every song has its end.

It is quiet for a moment when Joe is done. 

“Chopin?” Nicky asks.

“Valse Brillante Op. 34 no. 2," Joe says with a nod. "I have found an arrangement for cello as well, with piano accompaniment.”

“It’s beautiful. Though I don’t think I can ever do the performance you gave just now justice.”

Joe is still staring at the keys, but Nicky can see the corners of his mouth curl upwards. "It's the song that earned me my scholarship. I was playing it in a train station somewhere in the Netherlands, where they had placed one of those pianos for people to play on. And Andy was there and heard me. She offered me a chance to audition, so I flew over a couple of weeks later, played it again and got accepted. I played some other songs as well, but this one was my favorite.”

Nicky blinks for a moment. A warmth spreads in his chest, a tenderness that makes his hands twitch in his lap. He wants to reach out, run his fingers through Joe’s curls, brush his cheek, lean his forehead against Joe’s temple. 

He stays where he is and says, “I am honoured. Truly.”

Joe looks at him, with his ever-shining eyes like molten sunlight. “You will make it beautiful, Nicky. I know you will.”

“Nicolò,” Nicky says. 

Joe raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“My name,” Nicky clarifies, the soft smile around his mouth sounding through in his voice. “It is Nicolò.”

“Nicolò,” Joe repeats. And for the first time in a very long while, it sounds just right.


	5. Nocturne

“Joe, please. Joe, stop! I beg you! I can’t-” Nicky breaks off because he is laughing too hard. He tries covering his ears with his hands. “Joe, you’re a man of many, many talents, but singing is not one of them. Please, spare me.”

“What? Don’t you like my aria? I sang it at least as beautifully as that soprano. At least! But it’s okay, my boundless talent is hard to grasp for mere mortals, I know. You’re simply not ready yet for the glorious gift that is my angelic voice. But we’ll get there.”

“Yes, I am sure, but can you now please use your boundless talent to open the door? I’m freezing here.”

The cab ride home from the opera had been ice cold since the driver had left his window open for some unfathomable reason, leaving the January wind to blow right into Nicky’s face. Nicky wonders if it's possible for your nose to freeze off.

Joe just chuckles and opens the door. Nicky is already half out of his coat when he notices it’s not much warmer inside. By the confused look on his face, Joe must have noticed it too. 

“That’s strange. The heating should have turned on again by now,” Joe says and walks away to take a look.

Nicky shrugs his coat back on, tying his scarf a little tighter and breathing into his numb hands. 

“I think it’s broken,” Joe calls. 

“Broken?” Nicky follows Joe’s voice.

“Yeah, I’ll have to call tomorrow to see if someone can come and fix it.”

“And what will we do now then?”

Going to Nicky’s apartment is not an option. He doesn’t have a sleepable couch and only a very small, very uncomfortable bed. Besides, they’re both too tired from the hard rehearsal day and the wonderful but extremely long opera to make the trip. 

“I still have a small electric heater, so I can put that in the bedroom and then we can both sleep in the bed. There’s enough room in there, like I have pointed out already, I think.” There’s a playful light dancing in Joe’s eyes at the last comment.

Nicky answers his grin with one of his own. “Only once or twice,” he says, but inside he is silently dying. Sleeping in Joe’s bed? While Joe will be sleeping there as well? And that after having to witness him in a three piece suit for a whole night? 

Maybe freezing his nose off is the better option after all.

“I’ll set everything ready so the room can warm up. You can borrow a sweater of mine if you want, just pick one from the closet.”

Nicky knows, for his own sanity’s sake, that he should politely decline, call a taxi and go home. Yet half an hour later, he finds himself standing in Joe’s slowly warming bedroom in one of his hoodies - the green one that reminds him of Joe curled up on the couch with one of his poetry books, occasionally commenting while Nicky rehearses - all ready for bed. 

“Which side is your side?” he yells to the bathroom. 

“The one closest to the door!”

Nicky nods to himself and hesitantly slips beneath the covers on the other side. He doesn’t lie down yet, but hugs his knees to his chest. He buries his nose in the sleeves of the hoodie and closes his eyes when he breathes in Joe’s scent. 

It’s been a truly wonderful night. Before going to the opera, Joe took him to his favorite restaurant. They arrived completely overdressed and a lot of people kept throwing glances at them. _At Joe,_ Nicky corrects himself, and he can’t blame them. Ever-confident, easygoing Joe in a three piece suit is quite the sight to behold. Nicky hadn’t been able to tear his gaze away from him either, as if there was some kind of spell on him that bound him to Joe. At the opera they had blended right in with the crowd, and Joe had offered him his arm and led him to their seats as if they did this every week. And even while the orchestra was playing so enchantingly and the singers were giving them the performance of their lives, Nicky couldn’t help glancing Joe’s way every once in a while to see his expressions change with the music, completely immersed in the story. Sometimes, he even noticed Joe’s lips moving along with the lyrics. Once, near the end at a particularly heartfelt moment, Joe had looked back at him, smiling through tears shining in his eyes, and had grasped his hand. He held it until the applause.

And now Nicky is sitting here, in Joe’s bed wearing his hoodie. This night feels more like a fairy tale, like a dream, than anything else. His heart clenches. To know what it feels like to have this… It will only hurt all the more when he loses it again tomorrow.

He straightens his back again when the door to the bathroom opens, stretching his legs. Joe appears a second later. He pauses for a moment and Nicky is convinced he is second guessing his offer. But then a slow smile appears on Joe’s face and he crosses the room to check the electrical heater, still humming the aria from earlier.

Nicky tries very hard not to stare at the way Joe’s shirt tightens around his shoulders as he bends over to adjust the temperature. 

“That should do it,” Joe mutters to himself before joining Nicky in the bed. 

Nicky’s heart is racing, pounding in his ears. He can feel heat rising to his cheeks and no, he can't do this. He lies down and turns to his side, facing away from Joe. “Good night, Joe,” he says.

There’s a pause before Joe answers. “Good night, Nicky." 

If Nicky didn’t know any better, he would almost think there was something of disappointment in his voice. 

It stays quiet for a moment longer. Then, the mattress moves as Joe settles in behind him. He turns off the lamp on the bedside table and shifts around some more with a great sigh. After that, everything falls silent.

Nicky lies there, eyes wide open and surrounded by Joe’s scent. His heart has no intention to calm down any time soon and despite the little heater, his toes and the tip of his nose are still cold. He barely notices that, though, all his senses are purely focused on Joe’s tantalizing closeness.

He should apologize to Joe tomorrow, tell him he had just been exhausted. He should thank him as well, because in his ridiculous, heartstruck panic, he’d completely forgotten about that. Joe must find him terribly rude. Maybe that’s what he’d heard in Joe’s voice a moment ago, he’d been offended. 

Nicky pinches the bridge of his nose. Yes, he should definitely set that right tomorrow. For now, he pushes the thoughts aside, and allows the events of the night to replay in his mind.

He tries to hear if Joe’s breathing has evened out already, but it’s utterly silent in the room. He doesn’t know how long he lies there like that, listening. He guesses it’s been an hour or two, maybe more. At least, his heart has quieted down somewhat by now.

He turns on his other side because if this is the only chance he will ever get to spend the night with Joe like this, then he is determined to make the most out of it. He would regret it all his life if he didn’t take the chance to see Joe lost in peaceful sleep.

What he didn’t expect, however, is to find Joe’s eyes on him. 

They are dark and honest and draw Nicky in like the tide. How long has he been watching?

“Are you still cold?” Joe asks after a while. His voice is soft and full of something Nicky doesn't dare to name. He moves closer ever so slightly. “I heard sharing body heat is very efficient.”

Nicky swallows as he feels Joe’s legs brush against his, entangling them.

Joe moves closer still, and Nicky finds himself inching towards him as well until there are only a few inches left between them. Joe is so close Nicky would be able to count his freckles if there had been more light. His breath hitches as Joe places a gentle hand on his hip. He touches Joe’s chest, and watches his calloused fingers stroke the soft material of his shirt, feeling the warmth of the skin beneath.

When he looks up, Joe is still watching him, his eyes dipping down to Nicky’s lips. As if by an invisible rope, Nicky is pulled closer. Their noses graze each other and Nicky’s eyes flutter closed as Joe’s breath ghosts his lips. 

“Can I?” Joe whispers and instead of answering, Nicky closes the distance.

It feels a lot like finally drawing breath.

Joe sighs and melts against his lips, his hand leaving his hip to cup his cheek. Nicky presses himself against Joe because even an inch of space between them is too much. Joe seems just as desperate, holding onto Nicky as if he's afraid he'll disappear if he lets go.

“Nicolò,” Joe says in between heated kisses and it almost sounds like a plea.

Nicky uses his hands on Joe’s chest to push him on his back so he can crawl on top of him. He pauses for a moment to drink in the sight that is Joe, wonderful, talented, brilliant, beautiful Joe. The man who owns his heart without even knowing it. The man who has given him more happiness than Nicky ever thought possible. The man whose very soul seems to speak to Nicky's in a language only they understand. Joe's chest is rising and falling with heavy breaths, his eyes on Nicky, so vulnerable and unguarded and longing.

Nicky will take anything Joe is willing to give, even if it is just for tonight. 

“I have heard of some other very efficient ways to keep you warm,” he says, surprising himself.

A smile brighter than the sun spreads over Joe’s face and he pulls Nicky down again to kiss him with such promise that Nicky is already helplessly, hopelessly lost.

***

When Nicky wakes up, it takes him a while to know where he is. It takes him another while to remember why there are arms around him and a body pressed against his back. He stiffens as soon as the realization hits and the memories flood back. The cold, the hoodie that lies rumpled on the floor now, lying awake for hours in the silence. Joe’s eyes and his hands and his warmth. His skin and his lips and his voice repeating Nicolò’s name over and over again. Then, when Nicky was already being pulled into sleep’s embrace, whispering in his ear in a language unfamiliar to him.

Something twists in his stomach and he braces himself for the moment when Joe will wake up and inevitably draw away and tell him it was a mistake and they should forget this ever happened. Maybe he should try to slip away before he wakes up, maybe Joe has forgotten all about it already and Nicky can just pretend it-

Joe shifts slightly behind him, his arms tightening around Nicky for a moment. “Are you cold, habibi?” he mutters, clearly still half asleep as he nuzzles the back of Nicky’s neck.

The tension leaves Nicky and relief crashes over him so strongly he has to close his eyes. He tries to swallow around the tightness in his throat.

“No,” he whispers, because Joe’s skin is warm against his own in their little cocoon.

“Good,” Joe mumbles with a sleepy sigh in his voice. He’s already dozing off again, but not before pressing a tender, lingering kiss to Nicky’s skin. 

Nicky holds his breath to keep the sobs inside, wiping away an escaped tear as he wonders how a heart can contain so much happiness without bursting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing better than some good old bed sharing. <3


	6. Rachmaninoff

It’s strange how, while everything is different, it all feels so familiar. Well, not _everything_ is different; they still rehearse every day together - the exhibition has come to an end and Joe has decided to take no other projects for a while until Nicky’s concert is over even though Nicky told him not to -, Nicky’s apartment is still orphaned most of the time and every minute spent with Joe is a minute he will treasure forever. But now there are gentle touches too, and suggestive remarks and meaningful glances and kisses - oh _God_ , the kisses! Now, Nicky spends every night in Joe’s arms and nothing has ever felt more like home.

Joe introduces him to Nile, and to Booker whom Nicky already knows because he’s a guard at the museum and has reminded him of closing time on more than one occasion. His chest swells with pride as Joe casually holds his hand while they’re talking with his friends. It’s such a small gesture, yet it means a lot to Nicky and makes his smile all the brighter.

If truth be told, Nicky still gets a little overwhelmed when Yusuf showers him with beautiful words and compliments that belong in a poetry book. He wants to return the favor, but he’s never been any good with words. Not the way Joe is. He makes sure to make it up in other ways, though.

As the weeks wear on, Nicky feels as if he’s living on a cloud, in a beautiful story. 

But of course, the concert is still looming over him, drawing ever closer. February is halfway over and with every passing day, Nicky feels the nerves clenching in his gut. 

And the fact that he can’t get this damned movement right for the life of him doesn’t really help.

He’s been working on it for weeks and still the fast pieces get to him. He can’t get the rhythm right and his fingers trip over themselves and it’s infuriating. Especially since it’s the last movement of the concerto, so it is important to get it exactly right, perfectly right. He will be tired, exhausted, by that point, so diligent preparation is key.

Yet all his ‘diligent’ preparation is getting him nowhere.

When he messes up the same few bars for what feels like the hundredth time that day, he grunts and stops playing with a last frustrated screech of the strings. 

“No, Nico, don’t stop playing! Never stop playing!” Joe says as he continues the orchestral parts. “Come on, pick it up again.”

“No, Joe, I can’t do this.”

“Of course you can! Join me again in three bars, one…”

“I said I can't do this, Joe! I’m not fucking good enough!”

And with that, Nicky puts his cello down and storms out of the door, remembering just in time to grab his coat from the hanger.

The piano falls silent behind him and he hears Joe calling after him, but it’s cut off as he slams the door shut.

He walks at a brisk pace. He doesn’t know where he’s going but he needs to keep moving to keep himself from thinking. Not even two blocks down, he fishes his phone out of his pocket and types out a quick text.

_I’m sorry I stormed out like that, just need to clear my head. x_

Three seconds later, his phone buzzes. 

_< 3_

When he returns - he wanted to return sooner, but had lost his way a little because he hadn’t been paying enough attention to where he was going - the edge of his frustration has dulled and he feels like there is room in his head again to think.

Joe has given him a key some weeks ago, and he quietly lets himself in. A gentle piano melody meets him at the door and Nicky can breathe again.

After putting his coat away, he stays in the doorway to the living room, watching Joe’s back as he plays. Nicky doesn’t think he will ever tire of hearing Joe play, creating the most beautiful songs as if it’s as easy as breathing. He doesn’t think it will ever cease to take him into another world.

He walks towards Joe and wraps his arms around him from behind. Joe keeps playing but leans into the touch. Nicky kisses the top of his head, then the sensitive spot behind his ear and the crook of his neck. Joe turns his head to catch Nicky’s mouth, his fingers falling on the last chord. 

“I’m sorry I left like that,” Nicky murmurs against his smiling lips.

“Thank you for the text,” Joe says and brushes Nicky’s cheek.

Nicky gives him a last kiss to show him again how sorry he is, before breaking away and turning to the kitchen. “I’ll make dinner.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Nicky chuckles and Joe follows him into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as Nicky readies everything. Nicky meaningfully shoves a zucchini and a knife his way. Joe frowns as if he doesn’t know what Nicky is getting at, but Nicky simply raises his eyebrows at him and Joe goes to work with a pout on his face, but playful lights dancing in his eyes. Nicky bumps his hip with his and Joe laughs. 

“So about earlier,” Joe says after a while of calm vegetable-cutting. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Nicky shrugs. “The part just won’t work and I’ve been working on it for so long already…” he sighs, feeling the demotivation rise again within him.

“And you will get it right, I know you will,” Joe says. “And even if you won’t, it’s only what? Two bars? Three, at most? Everything else goes perfectly well.”

“Yes, but then there are still three bars that don’t.”

Joe stops cutting and turns to Nicky. “Babe, let me tell you a secret. I have played many mistakes in my life, even at home, at rehearsals, at concerts. I play mistakes all the time. However much you practice and however many times you’ve nailed it, it happens. And the trick is to keep playing. Habibi, look at me,” Joe says as he takes a step closer and touches his hip with his hand. “You’ve heard me make mistakes, and you still told me it was beautiful every time. Why does everything have to be perfect with you?”

Nicky fumbles for an answer, his eyes darting around as if he might find it somewhere on the shelves or written on the cabinets. Eventually, he settles for, “I don’t know, it just has to.”

“Perfection doesn’t exist, Nico. You have to make your own, one that leaves room for mistakes.”

That makes Nicky pause for a moment. “Easier said than done.”

“I know,” Joe says, “but you’ll get there.” There’s a light, reassuring squeeze in his hip and Nicky presses a kiss to Joe’s lips in silent thanks.

Joe’s eyes grow wide in excitement. “I know what you need.” And he storms out of the kitchen.

“And what would that be?” Nicky calls, looking after him.

“Rachmaninoff!”

***

This is Joe’s plan: They have two days to rehearse the piece (“I’d say three, but I know I can’t miss you for three days”), and then they would give a concert in Joe’s living room.

_Cello Sonata in G Minor, Op. 19: II. Allegro scherzando_

Nicky didn’t know it, so the first thing he did was put it on loop and analyse the piece. But the minutes were ticking away and he couldn’t analyse it as much as he’d wanted. Now, the second evening is rapidly slipping by.

Nicky is stretching his legs for a while, rolling his shoulders to loosen them up a little. It’s been strange to be back in his apartment. As if he’s at a hotel instead of his own home. 

He picks his phone up from where he’d put it away and on silent mode because Joe had kept sending him texts, making it impossible to concentrate. He chuckles as he sees he has thirty-seven unread texts.

_Shouldn’t you be rehearsing?_ Nicky sends.

Of course, Joe’s answer arrives not five seconds later. _HABIBI!_

And then, _Yes, but consider this: you have become such an integral part of my life in the span of only a couple of months that I even forgot we aren’t actually living together and aren’t actually joined at the hip._

Nicky smiles at his screen and he’s just typing an answer when another text arrives. 

_Maybe we should._

And another, _Live together, I mean._

Nicky’s heart flutters. It takes him a minute to make his fingers work again. _Amore, are you asking me to move in with you through text?_

_Why not? You’re paying rent for nothing now. (And I miss you a lot, please come back tonight already.)_

Nicky’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Even though he feels like he could run a marathon, he needs to sit down as the realization sinks in. He knows nothing will change really, they’ve been practically living together for a while now, but the excitement he feels now that it will be official is overwhelming.

_Let’s do it! :) And I miss you too, but I’ll be up late tonight._

_We can be up late together. ;)_

Nicky laughs. _Rehearsing, amore. Though I promise you I’ll make up for our lost time..._

His smile widens as he sees the text notifications flood in, but he puts his phone away again and goes back to his cello.

When he stops for the night at two AM, he has fifty-four new texts. After reading them all, he’s very happy to find Joe is still awake, too. And in the end, they do stay up together until four.

***

The next day, Nicky returns to Joe’s place and is welcomed with hugs and peppered with kisses as if they haven’t seen each other in months. They were planning to rehearse together a couple of times, but get too caught up in talking and kissing to keep track of time. Before they know it, the appointed time for their mini-concert is drawing close.

“We’ll be fine,” Joe says with a shrug. 

Nicky highly doubts it, but doesn’t say anything and follows Joe’s example of changing into his concert outfit: a simple black shirt and black trousers. Despite being stripped to his underwear only a moment before, he catches Joe quite unashamedly admiring his butt now it’s clad in the tight fit of the trousers.

“We should have done this sooner,” Joe remarks. 

“I agree,” Nicky answers. And it is very satisfying to see the smugness fall from Joe’s face, replaced by a heat in his eyes that makes Nicky doubt if they’ll do the concert at all. 

But then Joe stands up and goes to the door of the bedroom. “Wait here for a moment. I’ll go set everything ready.”

When Joe returns, his face is as serious as Nicky has ever seen it.

“Everyone is there, are you ready?”

“Everyone? What do you mean?” Nicky asks, unable to keep the spark of panic out of his voice. “I thought this was just a joke.”

“A joke? No, no, this is very serious, Nicolò. Come, we can’t keep them waiting.”

Nicky follows anxiously, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers. Who did Joe invite? Nile? Booker? Quynh? _Andromache_? If she was there, Nicky would bolt right out of the door. Or maybe faint. Either way, he would not handle it well.

When he enters the living room again - where Joe has put his whole collection of floor and other lamps around the piano and Nicky’s chair to make a tiny, lit stage - he bursts out laughing. In front of the improvised stage, Joe has put some chairs with photos taped to them. He spots Nile and Quynh and Andromache and some random people as well. He thinks he even sees Britney Spears. 

A sharp elbow in his side breaks off his laughter. 

“That’s not very professional, Nicolò,” Joe mumbles, giving him a disapproving eyebrow. But Nicky can see the mirth in his eyes he is trying to hide.

Nicky schools his expression and bows his head gravely. “I’m sorry.”

Joe nods and motions for Nicky to take the stage. Nicky takes his cello and bow and walks over the lamps, careful not to trip over the wires. He startles when a round of applause sounds. He turns around to find Joe with his phone in his hand, but looking around as if he doesn’t know where the applause is coming from either.

Nicky bites his lips to keep himself from laughing. He sits down as Joe enters the stage, still under loud applause. 

Joe taps on the phone which causes the applause to magically disappear, and plays an A for Nicky. After Nicky swiftly checks if his cello is still tuned, he nods to Joe.

They start out good enough. But it only lasts a couple of bars. Then, Nicky’s timing gets off and Joe’s fingers trip over each other which throws Nicky off guard.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!” Joe yells and they struggle through until the music eases down and they find each other again. “Yes, right back on track.”

As the notes turn short and hastened again, Nicky focuses extra hard. And so does Joe, so it seems, because despite some slight hiccups, they manage to make it sound decent this time. And Nicky finds himself enjoying this immensely, feeling the adrenaline and agitation of the song course through his whole body. 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about!” Joe cheers, “Keep going!”

“I thought this was a concert,” Nicky remarks and Joe just laughs as his fingers fly over the keys.

“Ah, can you feel it, Nico? We’re floating on a lake.” Joe exclaims as they arrive at a calm part again. “We’re in a dream!”

Nicky smiles as he gives his all to follow Joe in his dream. With Joe in mind, his playing turns all the lovelier. Nicky’s heart flutters as they play so seamlessly together. It doesn’t matter that they play some mistakes here and there, the only thing that matters is that they’re enjoying playing together and do so with heart and soul. And as the dream breaks and the music wakes up in agitation again with a truly masterful part of Joe, Nicky understands that music doesn’t need perfection. It does need discipline and practice, but above all it needs passion and unconditional devotion. 

They play with such intensity that Nicky doesn’t hear the mistakes anymore. He even forgets they’re not on a real stage beneath actual spots playing for an audience of hundreds of people. But even if that had been the case, he would have forgotten all about that as well. 

And then it is over and they both sit there in absolute silence, overwhelmed by what they just created together. It was far from perfect, but Nicky knows he will treasure it like one of the most beautiful performances he has ever given.

The spell lasts a couple of seconds longer, until the applause creaks from Joe’s phone again and Nicky bursts out laughing. He puts his cello to the side as Joe stands next to him, holding out his hand. Nicky takes it and together, they bow in front of their audience. Then Nicky pulls Joe in and kisses him. 

“Thank you, amore mio,” Nicky whispers against his lips.

“Mhm, we should do that more often” Joe says as he presses another kiss to his mouth. His hand travels down his back until it rests on the curve of Nicky’s butt. “And now I need you to get out of those damn trousers.”


	7. Senza Misura

After their little concert, Nicky rediscovers his enjoyment in practicing. He learns to be a little more forgiving to himself and he doesn’t stop as much as he used to whenever he makes a mistake. 

In between cleaning out Nicky’s apartment and moving all his stuff to Joe’s house - not that it’s a lot - they start rehearsing Chopin’s waltz as well. Nicky is almost afraid to play it for Joe, knowing how much it means to him. He still needs to work out certain parts and focus more on the feelings the song conveys once he has done so, but the small nod Joe grants him after their first playthrough, full of confidence that Nicky will turn it into something wonderful, makes all his worries melt away. 

Time slips by and Nicky tries to ignore the multiplying crossed out days on Joe’s calendar with impressionist art in the kitchen. Unfortunately, ignoring it doesn’t help to make him forget the concert is not even a month away. 

They are both sleeping peacefully in each other’s arms when Mozart’s Dies Irae startles them awake.

“ _Madre di Dio_ , Yusuf, you _have_ to change your ringtone,” Nicky groans as Joe fumbles for his phone on the nightstand.

Nicky turns around, snuggling closer to Joe to follow his warmth. 

“It’s Baba,” Joe mumbles right before he picks up. 

Nicky sits up as well now. He picks up a word here and there that he has learned from Joe’s Arabic lessons, but Joe is talking too quickly to understand everything. When a smile breaks out on his face and his eyes turn shiny, though, Nicky’s heart flutters.

“Your sister?” he whispers. 

Joe meets his eyes and nods excitedly, his voice growing shaky as he talks with his father. Nicky feels all warm inside and kisses Joe’s shoulder, patiently waiting for more details.

“She and the baby are doing well,” Joe says as soon as he ends the call. “It was a tough delivery, but everything is okay now.”

“That’s wonderful,” Nicky says, squeezing Joe’s arm. “And what is it?”

“A boy!” Joe exclaims, and then, with the most tender look on his face, “Mounir.”

“Mounir,” Nicky repeats softly. “What a lovely name. And now you are Uncle Yusuf!”

And Joe shines with pride and utter joy, but then something like a spasm shoots across his face, breaking his smile. And suddenly his arm is shaking against Nicky and he’s covering his face with his hands. For a second, Nicky is completely paralysed, too shocked by the sudden change to do anything.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Joe says as he tries to hold back the sobs.

Nicky immediately wraps his arms around him. “No, no, amore, don’t hold back, come here.”

He gently leads Joe’s head to his chest and holds him close, stroking his hair. “Don’t hold back,” he repeats because he can feel Joe still trying to force everything inside. Joe listens this time and cries and cries in Nicky’s shirt, and Nicky holds him all the way through, his heavy heart breaking a little with every sob. He wants to tell Joe he doesn’t have to be happy and fun all the time. That he can just be himself and show him everything that’s inside his overflowing heart. But he has never been as good with words as Joe, so he just holds him and plants soft kisses on his head and tells him over and over that he’s here and that he can let everything out.

When only sniffles and a battlefield of rumpled tissues remain of Joe’s outburst, Nicky softly asks, “What happened?”

Joe takes a deep breath before answering, it catches slightly on a hiccup. “We haven’t been able to visit each other in almost two years and I just miss them so much. And I don’t even know when I’ll be able to see little Mounir and he won’t know his uncle and-” 

He breaks off and exhales to keep more tears from coming. 

Nicky desperately wishes he could shape the world like modelling clay to make the distance that parts Joe from his family disappear. He wishes he could snap his fingers and teleport them to the other side of the ocean. But all he can do now is hold Yusuf and try to carry a little of his grief for him. 

He tries to console him with soft words and hopes they are the right ones. When they settle in for sleep again - Nicky holding Joe in his arms for once - Joe quietly says, “Thank you, Nicolò.”

Nicky tightens his arms around him. “Is your heart a little lighter now?”

“Yes,” Joe says with a little, content sigh.

Soon after, Joe has drifted off to sleep. Nicky is almost there too, but then he jolts wide awake again as he remembers the existence of airplanes and the Internet.

***

“It was so busy, babe! And the brand of toilet paper you like was all sold out, so I’ve got another one. If it’s horrible, I take full responsibility and I _will_ make it up to you, so you can just- huh? What's this?"

Nicky’s heart is racing as he follows Joe into the kitchen, quietly as a mouse. There, on the counter, right for Joe to see when he puts away the groceries, he has left a little surprise. A plane ticket.

“Nico!” Joe calls, then, a little louder, “Nico, what is this?” He drops the groceries and whisks the sheet of paper from the table. 

Standing in the doorway, Nicky watches Joe’s back as he’s reading the details, a wringing anticipation in his gut. He wishes he could see the look on Joe’s face, see all the things that are undoubtedly crossing it. 

Joe lowers the paper and slowly turns around. His eyes find Nicky’s and he looks utterly dumbfounded and in awe. Then he sprints to Nicky, yelling “Catch me!” and Nicky’s instincts take over when Joe jumps.

He stumbles a couple of steps backwards, but manages to keep them upright. He laughs as Joe wraps his legs around him and holds him so tightly as if he wants to squeeze Nicky to death.

“I take it you like it?” Nicky groans.

His answer is Joe burying his face in kisses, his beard scratching Nicky’s skin. After a last kiss to Nicky’s lips, Joe says, “I love you.”

The strain in Nicky’s arms and legs disappears, he could carry the whole world now. “And I love you, Yusuf.”

And Joe captures Nicky’s smile with his own in another, lingering kiss. 

When they break apart and Joe stands on his own two legs again, he takes another look at the ticket. “We should start packing if we’re leaving tomorrow night already. Do you have the window seat? ‘Cause I prefer sitting at the window if that’s alright with you. And do my parents know we’re coming?”

Joe goes on, but Nicky can only hear a white noise as he blinks at Joe. When Joe notices Nicky has turned into a robot without batteries, he frowns. 

“What’s wrong, habibi?”

“Well, they know you’re coming but I’m… I’m not coming along.”

“What? Why?” Joe seems genuinely alarmed. 

Nicky lifts his shoulders and grasps for words. “I just- I didn’t think your family would like- would want me to… would want to see me.”

“Nicolò,” Joe says with emphasis, “my family has been dying to meet you ever since I told them about you. And that was even before we got together.”

“You… you told them about me?” And it is stupid and Nicky shouldn’t be so surprised but the thought truly touches him to the core.

Joe cups his cheek, his eyes growing soft. “Of course, ya hayati. I can’t shut up about you and they keep asking me about you too. Haven’t they offered you to stay as well?”

“Well the communication went through your baba and Google Translate Arabic, so I was already proud I could explain you were coming.”

Joe laughs at that. “No, not baba of all people, Nicky! Next time, you should go through one of my sisters.”

“I’ll remember that,” Nicky says with a sheepish smile.

“We can take a look if there are still seats left?”

“I’m afraid yours was the last one.” Nicky hates how the hope in Joe’s eyes extinguishes. “Besides, I should really stay here and keep rehearsing. The concert is coming close now.”

“The concert! No, I can’t go when it’s drawing so close! I should-”

“Joe,” Nicky says firmly, squeezing his shoulders. “You are going to visit your family and meet your nephew. I’ll rehearse on my own for a week, I’ll be fine.”

He can see the struggle in Joe’s eyes, a struggle that shouldn’t be one at all, so he says, “It’s okay, amore, really. I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”

Joe wraps his arms around him, burying his face in the crook of Nicky’s neck and planting a kiss there. “I love you,” he mumbles into the fabric of Nicky’s shirt.

“I love you, too.” And Nicky knows that even if he would say it every second of every day to Joe for a hundred years, it would never measure up to the intensity of what he feels for him.

***

“The lost son has returned!”

Nicky laughs as he walks up to the reception where Celeste is already printing out a ticket for him. 

“I’m sorry, I got caught up in a thing or two. I’m glad to be back, though.”

“Does that thing or two involve a certain pianist that played here not too long ago?”

Nicky’s smile widens. “Maybe.”

He proceeds to tell her about Joe and the concert and invites her to come as well, which she all too gladly accepts. After catching up, he goes into the museum. 

It is as if he has only been there yesterday. Yet, it feels like something is missing without Joe’s music to guide him from art piece to art piece. So he puts his earbuds in and puts his Joe-playlist on shuffle. It contains official recordings, some of live performances, as well as a lot of recordings Nicky made, secretly or not so secretly, in their living room. 

Yes, now everything falls into place.

At home, it’s too silent without Joe. Without Joe playing the piano, without him laughing and teasing Nicky, even without the quiet, reverent moments of Joe praying. It has only been three days since he left and they have called a couple of times, but Nicky can’t stand the emptiness in the house, the Joe-shaped empty space in their bed. So whenever he isn’t rehearsing or sleeping, he goes out. He’s gone out for dinner with Nile, and Booker has invited him to watch a soccer match. Nicky doesn’t know a lot about soccer, but apparently he knows enough to win the bet that Booker’s favorite team wouldn’t win the match. (When he texted Joe about it, Joe answered in all caps how proud he was and that he wished he would have been there.) 

(Nicky wishes that too.)

He takes his time as he wanders through the halls on the current of Joe’s songs. He pauses in front of his favorite paintings, rediscovers some he had forgotten about, and sees a few he didn’t like before in a whole new light now.

Even though everything is still the same in the museum, Nicky feels like a completely different person. He remembers himself, coming here lost and confused and as if he was made of pieces not meant to fit together. He was trying to find something here. Peace, rest, acceptance. Himself. 

He never expected to find all of that and more. Love, a home, happiness. All in the form of Yusuf al-Kaysani. 

Sometimes, when Joe is still fast asleep, Nicky watches him in the early morning light, wondering if it’s all a dream or an illusion his mind has tricked him to believe. Sometimes, when the voices of the past ring loud in his head, he’s afraid God will punish them both and take it all away. But then, when Joe is awake and smiles at him stretching and squinting his eyes against the light, all his worries melt away. Because Nicolò knows he will fight for this man and his love should someone, even God, try to pry them apart. He knows that their souls are tied together by something stronger than destiny itself.

Above all, he knows that the God he wants to believe in, is the one who led them into each other’s arms.

As he stands between medieval religious art, Joe fills his head with Chopin’s waltz. Nicky’s mouth quirks up at the sound, his heart filling with warmth. 

While rehearsing together, it struck him how simplified the piano accompaniment had become. It hadn’t sounded right then, and now, hearing Joe play it so magnificently, the wrongness of it all stands out even more. He wants it to be something of them both, something that reflects them as two parts of a whole. It’s only three weeks before the concert, two weeks and a couple of days when Joe gets back. Entirely too late to make big changes, especially since the rehearsals with the orchestra will start when Joe returns. 

But for once, Nicky is not scared of failure. Because Joe will be right there with him, and he is certain, as certain as he is that the sun will rise every day, that they will create something beautiful together.

***

Nicky’s heart jumps when the Skype ringtone bursts from his laptop. He quickly runs a hand through his hair one last time and answers the call.

“Hello, habibi.” A wide smile breaks out on Joe’s face as soon as he sees Nicky.

“Good afternoon, amore,” Nicky says though it is barely noon for him. 

There are voices in the background, yelling. Joe answers the voices and stands up. As he starts walking, he turns back to Nicky, “They are desperate to meet you, so I guess we’ll have to catch up afterwards if we want to have some peace.”

Nicky chuckles, but nerves clench together in his stomach. 

“You ready?” Joe asks silently, pausing in a hallway. 

Nicky nods. “I’m glad I can finally meet your family.”

The crinkles around Joe’s eyes that Nicky loves so much appear as his smile deepens. 

Joe says something in Arabic as he steps through a door. He turns his phone to where his family is sitting around a whole assortment of food like they are celebrating with at least thirty people instead of eight and a baby that’s not even two weeks old.

They all cheer and wave and greet him as if he’s a celebrity. Nicky smiles and waves and tries to focus on one voice at a time as they start bombarding him with questions. But Joe intervenes and turns the screen back towards himself. Then he introduces his family members one by one, allowing them to have a little conversation with Nicky.

Nicky is overjoyed to finally see the faces behind Joe’s stories (pictures really do them no justice). He meets Joe’s brother, his sisters, little Mounir, and his parents. Joe has the same kind eyes as his father and the same mouth as his mother. And he can see the resemblances return in each of his siblings. 

His siblings and their partners speak English well enough to hold a conversation, but Joe has to act as translator between Nicky and his parents. Although Nicky’s heart almost bursts as his mother welcomes him into the family and thanks him for making her little Yusuf so happy in broken Italian.

Joe laughs as she tells him something in Arabic. “She says she’s sorry for her accent.”

“It was perfect. I almost thought she was from Genoa as well,” Nicky answers in Italian, which makes Joe’s mother laugh and roll her eyes after Joe translates it. 

They talk for a long time and Nicky is delighted to hear some stories about Joe’s youth that have Joe hide his face in his hands, silently cursing his treacherous siblings for being so eager to translate what their parents have to say. Nicky laughs and listens with joy, relaxed and calm like he has never felt before in family gatherings. Welcome. He feels welcome. 

And when they’re saying goodbye - Nicky thanking them in his equally broken Arabic -, his throat tightens when they all wave at him and tell him he needs to come over soon so they can hug him properly and spoil him with all the delicious food he had to stare at today.

He tries to hold back the tears climbing to his eyes when Joe takes him back to his bedroom, secretly wiping them away when he’s not looking. 

Joe falls down on his bed, settling in with his back against the headboard. “I’m sorry, they can be a little overwhelming. They were just very excited to meet you.”

And that does it for Nicky. He buries his face in his hands as to smother the sounds somewhat.

“Oh no, habibi, what’s wrong?” Joe asks, voice thick with worry. “Did they say something to offend you?”

Nicky quickly shakes his head. “No, no, no, not at all.” He wipes his eyes and smiles through his tears, because he is happy. He is happier than he has ever thought possible. “I loved every minute of it. Your family is so kind and warm and beautiful. I’m just touched by how lovingly they have welcomed me.”

“Of course, Nico.”

“I have never experienced that before. I never thought I would.” And this sends another wave of tears over him, as he thinks of his own family. Surely, there must have been happy times when he was a child. But he cannot remember them. They all have a stain on them from the coldness afterwards, the incessant remarks and disappointment. The certainty that whatever he might do or try, he will never be good enough, never be deserving enough, just because of what is inside his heart. Most of all, he thinks of the fact that he will never be able to give Joe the same wonderful experience, the same unconditional warm welcome.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, resorting to Italian and trying to stop crying.

“Don’t be, ya hayati,” Joe says, his voice soft. “I wish I were there to hold you. I’m sorry the people that should hold you closest to their hearts made you feel like you didn’t deserve love that should be given freely. That you aren’t worthy. Because you are, Nicolò. You are worth all the love in the world and beyond. You have a kindness that touches everyone you meet, you have such passion and dedication that leave me in awe every day. You are the most beautiful person I have ever met and I am grateful every day to have met you. That I may stand by your side and bask in your light.”

Nicky’s throat tightens even more, but he smiles at the words. “You’re an incurable romantic.”

Joe grins. “I’m a musician with an unhealthy poetry obsession, it’s in the job description.”

Nicky laughs, a little snort escaping him. “Thank you,” he says softly as he has sobered again. “I love you, Joe.”

“I love you, too,”Joe says. “Beyond measure and reason.”


	8. Libero

Joe’s frown deepens while Nicky explains his plans for the waltz. He looks exhausted from the long journey, but he refused to take a nap after arriving back home, wanting to make sure he will be able to sleep when it gets dark on this side of the world so his internal clock will adjust sooner. The frown combined with the tiredness, however, makes him look even more skeptical.

“But it’s Chopin,” he says when Nicky is finished.

“Since when are you afraid of a little improvisation?”

Joe’s expression eases into a you-got-me-there smile. 

“Come take a look, I’ve already worked on it a little,” Nicky continues and gets the music sheet where he has scribbled some notes. 

When Nicky sits down on the couch again, Joe immediately clings to him. He rests his head on Nicky’s shoulder and stares at the sheet while Nicky explains further. 

“So what do you think?”

It’s silent a moment longer, then Joe gets up and plucks the sheet from Nicky’s hands. He walks over to the piano and a lightness spreads inside Nicky’s chest as the room finally breathes with Joe’s music again. Even so exhausted he can barely keep his eyes open, his fingers dance across the keys, knowing exactly where to go from years of experience with this song. 

When Joe is done, he turns to Nicky and smiles. “Let’s do it.”

They don't have much time to work on the waltz, though, because the next day, the rehearsals with the orchestra start. Two weeks to rehearse with them is not as much as Nicky would have liked, but Joe says it's because of their busy schedule. And well, because Andy likes the thrill of it.

Nicky, however, is surprised to find Quynh is the one conducting this time. Andy will be in the audience, since she wants to be surprised. 

He’s silently grateful for it, because it certainly takes the edge off his nerves. Quynh starts with a playthrough of the first movement, to see where they stand. It is not a complete disaster and Joe gives Nicky a thumbs up from behind Quynh where he sits on the floor against a wall of the rehearsal room.

Quynh is very straightforward in her feedback, but generous in her approval, too. She lets them repeat some parts, providing tips which prove to be incredibly helpful and by the end of the rehearsal, they’ve made a lot of progress. A hopeful feeling has settled inside of Nicky as he and Joe leave the building that night. 

In the course of the next two weeks, the hopeful feeling comes and goes. Fortunately, whenever it fades to nothing more than a sliver of a wisp, Joe is always there to rekindle it again. 

That’s why every time he stands in front of the conservatory where they are rehearsing, Nicky dares to dream a little. Of a future where he will be here almost every day, doing what he loves most, working to get better at it. Sometimes he even dares to dream beyond that. Of concerts and projects around the world with his name shimmering right next to Joe’s. 

It’s when he thinks about that, secretly staring at Joe who’s engrossed in his music or a book or a soccer match he’s watching with Booker, that Nicky is overcome by determination. He knows what he is doing this for. Who he is doing this for. 

And then the day arrives. He wakes up from a fitful night of sleep, tensing when the realisation hits of what the day will bring. To his surprise, Joe is already awake behind him. His arms tighten around Nicky and he plants a kiss behind his ear, whispering an Italian poem Nicky once made him read because it reminded him of Joe. Nicky melts back in his embrace and lets Joe distract him for a while.

In the hours before they are expected at the concert hall, Nicky does extensive warm up exercises and rehearses the most difficult parts one last time. Together, they play the waltz once more, and it is vibrant and intimate. The next time they play it, it will be on a stage in front of hundreds of people. 

But Nicky tries not to think about that too much.

Joe proposes to play some Rachmaninoff afterwards to ease the nerves. It helps and Nicky has never been more grateful.

After that, they get ready to leave. 

Before going through the door, Joe looks at Nicky with his eyebrows raised in silent question.

Nicky takes a deep breath, takes Joe’s hand in his and smiles. Because as long as Joe is with him, he knows everything will be alright.

***

He can hear the audience talking and coughing and settling in their seats. He takes another sip of his water bottle in an attempt to moisten his dry throat. It doesn’t work.

“It’s getting crowded!” Joe says, returning from a sneaky assessment of the auditorium.

Nicky swallows, taking another sip. Oh no, the bottle is empty. Did he drink that much already? What if he has to pee in the middle of the concert? 

“Oh sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Nico, habibi, look at me,” Joe says, taking Nicky’s trembling hands in his. “It’s going to be fantastic. You are going to be fantastic.”

“What if I forget a part?” Nicky’s voice sounds strange to his own ears. “What if I pl-”

“Shhh,” Joe says and brings Nicky’s left hand to his lips, kissing each of his fingers. Against them, he softly says, “They know everything. Trust them.” His eyes dart upwards to find Nicky’s. “And if you make a mistake, then keep playing and make it part of your perfection. And most of all, don’t forget to have fun.”

A bright smile breaks out on Joe’s face and Nicky lets out a nervous laugh.

“I’ll try.”

“Come here.” Joe wraps his arms around Nicky and gives him a tight hug. 

Nicky had no idea how much he needed that. He buries his face in Joe’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of home - and quite a lot of perfume. It calms him immediately, easing the confused and shrieking turmoil inside.

“ _Grazie, amore_ ,” he says as he pulls back enough to look into Joe’s eyes. 

Joe’s smile deepens. “Let’s go make something unforgettable.”

He kisses Nicky and tightens his arms around him one more time before breaking apart. 

The members of the orchestra wish him good luck before taking their place on the stage. 

Quynh winks at him right before she enters the stage as well. The audience's applause is deafening.

Joe squeezes his hand. Nicky focuses on the warmth in his eyes, the certainty of his smile. 

_Don’t forget to have fun._

And just like that, all nervousness leaves him. Replaced by a steady confidence, a thrilling anticipation.

“I love you,” he mouths to Joe right before stepping onto the stage.

The applause washes over him, overwhelming but in a stirring way. He smiles at the audience, at Quynh. When he takes his seat, it grows quiet. Nicky doesn’t watch for Andromache in the crowd. He swiftly checks the tuning of his cello, and closes his eyes for a brief moment. He sees Joe, smiling, laughing, lost in music. He opens his eyes again. The auditorium is holding its breath. He nods to Quynh.

She raises her arms and so, it begins.

His fingers fly, feather-light. It’s like he’s breathing the music, like his cello is a part of him, an embodiment of his soul’s song. He doesn’t know if it’s the orchestra, the watchful gaze of hundreds of eyes on him, the fact that two of those eyes belong to the person who’ll decide his future. No, if it’s anything, it’s Joe standing backstage, listening to what he has heard a hundred times before and waiting patiently to join him beneath the spotlights.

He smiles and lets the music flow through him, taking control of his body and mind. Of course he makes mistakes, but he barely notices them. Flies over them without a second thought and makes the following bars all the more beautiful. It’s only him and his cello, weaving a story together.

He startles when the applause erupts, barely aware it’s already over. After a stunned second, he stands up and bows. His shirt is sticking to his skin and he can feel the drops of sweat run down his face, but the rush of the audience’s cheers make him forget all about it. He smiles and shakes Quynh’s hand, who smiles back brightly, nodding approvingly at him. He shakes the concertmaster’s hand as well and bows once more for the audience. Then he leaves the stage. 

Joe’s arms are around him even before he can put his cello away.

“Nico, you were brilliant,” he cheers, planting kisses all over Nicky’s sweaty face.

Nicky laughs. “Careful, careful.” He tries to hold his cello on a safe distance and urges Joe a little to the side so there’s room for the orchestra members to leave the stage.

Joe keeps showering him in compliments, telling him about his favorite parts. Nicky wipes a towel over his face and drinks half a water bottle in one gulp. 

Afterwards, he puts a finger to Joe’s lips. “It’s not over yet, amore. The best part is still to come.”

Joe’s smile softens. Nicky cups his cheek. He can’t wait to go on stage with Joe, to show the audience what they have created together. But most of all, he can’t wait to share this experience with Joe, because if it wasn’t for him, Nicky would never have gotten here.

Who knows what would have happened if Nicky had never met Joe. Where he would be. The thought alone makes him shiver. He owes Joe, this wonderful, beautiful, astonishing man, so much that his mind can hardly grasp it.

“What are you thinking about?” Joe asks, confusion crossing his face as he wipes away a tear that escapes Nicky’s eyes.

“You,” Nicky says. 

Joe’s smile grows even more confused, but someone comes to tell them they’re up.

Nicky takes Joe’s hand, as they’re walking to the stairway to the stage, nothing has ever felt more right. Just before entering the stage, Nicky pauses.

_Nothing has ever felt more right._

He turns to Joe with a wide smile.

“Marry me.”

“What?” Joe blinks at him as if he’s seen a ghost.

Nicky’s smile only widens. “Yusuf al-Kaysani, will you marry me?”

On the stage, their names are announced. 

“Time to go,” Nicky says and takes Joe with him on the stage. 

Joe walks to the piano in a daze, and as Nicky settles and tunes again, he starts to panic that maybe he shouldn’t have asked such a question out of the blue right before a _performance_. He looks at Joe, his hand holding his bow trembling ever so slightly.

Joe is staring at the keys in front of him. 

_Oh no, he has forgotten how to play. I ruined every-_

Then, the softest expression dawns on Joe’s face, a private smile full of inexplicable happiness. He looks up at Nicky. Nicky’s throat tightens at the warmth and undisguised adoration he reads on Joe’s face. 

Someone in the crowd coughs. Joe takes a deep breath as an indication he’s about to start. His fingers touch the keys and Nicky is right there with him.

Their eyes keep finding each other while they play, even though Nicky has to crane his neck a little to get a decent view. They pass the melody onto each other like the effortless current of a river, as if they are both playing one instrument. Nicky pours all his love for Joe into it, all his gratitude, all the feelings he cannot even name or fully grasp. And Joe is doing the same, it washes over Nicky, filling his lungs, guiding his arms and fingers.

It is only them on that stage, in that concert hall, in the whole world. It is only their souls resonating within the other.

As they let the last note fall between them, their eyes are locked. For a moment there’s nothing but silence. Just as Joe opens his mouth, the audience bursts out in applause. 

Nicky jumps, facing the crowd again he’d completely forgotten about. He smiles as the lights in the auditorium brighten, and his heart jumps right out of his chest when it reveals people standing up. He bows deeply, his right hand on his chest.

He wants to turn to Joe, but he finds an arm wrapping itself around his shoulders. He looks up into Joe’s warm eyes, alight with pride. They bow once more together, then Joe pulls Nicky into a hug, causing the cheers to grow even louder. 

“Yes,” Joe says in Nicky’s ear, drowning out even the deafening applause. “Of course, I will marry you, my Nicolò.”


	9. Al Coda

A year later, Nicky is staring at the phone in his hand. All he has to do is press the green button. He steels himself for a second more, then he takes a deep breath and forces his thumb to tap the button.

His heart is racing as he puts the phone to his ear. The beeps are agonising, taunting. When it jumps to voicemail, a sigh of relief escapes him. It is night in Italy, after all. He made sure of that.

“Hello, mamma,” he says in Italian. “It’s me. It’s been a while. I don’t know if you received the letter I sent you last year, telling you I was staying here after all. Well, even if you have, I’d like you to know why I decided to stay.”

He swallows.

“I eh… I enrolled in a conservatory. One of the highest ranking in the world. It’s my second semester now and it’s going well. I feel- I _know_ it’s what I was meant to do.” 

The memory of the concert is still clear in his mind. In the afterglow of the intoxicating thrill, he remembers wishing his family had been there to celebrate with him, to share the experience that was about to be one of the most important moments in his life. But he’d also known that he wouldn’t want them to be there if they wouldn’t accept Joe. And he had known they wouldn’t even have met his eyes, just like they had barely met Nicky’s eyes in the years before he left, except with cold, level gazes filled with disappointment. But Nicky will take none of that, not anymore. He’s done feeling guilty, he’s done trying to be someone he isn’t to please them. And he’s done giving them the chance to ignore it. He won’t hide Joe or his love for him. How else will his family ever, by some miracle, maybe start accepting them for who they are?

He allows himself a moment to breathe. He closes his eyes and thinks of Joe’s smile. As always, it immediately eases his mind.

“But that’s not the only reason I stayed, it’s not even the main reason. I met someone here. A guy.” He can hear the smile in his own voice. “His name is Yusuf and he’s a pianist and he’s the kindest man I’ve ever met. He’s beautiful inside and out… He’s… He’s…” He grasps for words, knowing none of them do him justice. “He’s everything. Yes, he's everything. If you ever meet him, you’ll understand.”

A fond chuckle escapes him. His eye catches the shimmering band around his finger. “And today has been a special day. Mamma, I married the love of my life today.” His throat tightens. “I never thought it was possible to feel this happy, this loved and full of love in return. My love for him has made me understand what God means, mamma.” He laughs and it’s a little choked, but he doesn’t care. 

He exhales, wiping an escaped tear of joy away - there have been many of those today. “I wanted to let you know. And if you want to get back in touch, then reach out to me whenever you are ready to accept and respect me. Us. And when papà and Mia and Roberto are too. You’ll not hear from me again until then. I’m not waiting anymore for your permission to live my life, for your approval. This is who I am and this is the life that makes me happy. A life with him. And I hope you can meet him one day. I really do. So… as I said, whenever you’re ready. Goodbye.”

He ends the call. 

He feels… light. The last weight of the burden he once carried with him lifting from his shoulders and disappearing in the wind.

Behind him, a door opens, pouring music and noise and laughter in the garden of the venue. Footsteps make their way to him and he smiles. 

“How did it go, habibi? Are you alright?” Joe asks as he winds his arms around Nicky from behind, kissing the side of his neck before resting his chin on his shoulder.

Nicky leans back into the touch, his fingers stroking Joe’s hands. “It went well. I’m glad I did it.”

Joe nuzzles his cheek. “Then you made the right choice. I'm proud of you.”

“Thank you, amore mio." Nicky turns around in Joe’s arms, cupping his face in his hands. “But now, let’s go back to the party. I’m not yet finished showing off my husband to everyone.”

Joe laughs at that, his eyes brightening at the word ‘husband’. “Then we should get on with that! Though I’m afraid your husband will be outshone by mine.”

Through his laughter, Nicky kisses Joe deeply. “I highly doubt that,” he mutters against his lips. 

Joe’s smile just widens, his eyebrows showing his defiance. “Let’s go. Maybe we can play some Rachmaninoff. I’m sure Andy and Quynh will join in seamlessly.”

Nicky lets Joe, his husband, take him back to their friends and family, and to the first day of the rest of their lives, filled with laughter, music and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cheesy ending for a cheesy story, I hope you guys liked it! Please feel free to let me know through kudos and/or comments, I'd love to hear your thoughts!!
> 
> And a last thank you to the mods of this big bang for hosting this wonderful event and to the amazing Shatters for the lovely art and calligraphy!! <33

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [ART for The Music of Your Soul Calling Mine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29239926) by [shatterthefragments](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatterthefragments/pseuds/shatterthefragments)




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